The Colours Within
by Keruri-chan
Summary: A story of love and compassion, a story of hatred and disregard. The story of Bulma and Vegeta, and how their worlds collided....
1. PROLOGUE bushwhacking

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or any of the characters portrayed in the show.

prologue. **bushwhacking.**

It seems that people are constantly asking themselves the rhetorical question: _If I knew then what I know now, would things be different?_ And these people usually answer themselves with: _Yes, it would be. I wouldn't make the same foolish mistakes or take things for granted._ And usually this question is asked with regret, after something has gone wrong. It's a question filled with _What if_'s and typically the reflecting person realizes that they could have avoided lots of pain or suffering or anger.

I asked myself this very question last night. Bulma, I thought to myself, If you knew then what you know now, where would you be? Who would you be? And who else would be with you?

Well, of course, this spurred me to consider what I know now that I didn't know then, and also when exactly _then_ was.

_Then_, I realized with minimal thinking required, had to have begun just over three years ago. I remember the day well. It was a Thursday. September was just around the corner and the Capsule Corporation was busy working out the distribution of the fall products. It had ended perhaps one of the more normal times of my life, if my life after teenagehood could be considered normal at all. I should have known around mid-morning that this day was a force to be reckoned with.

Vegeta came back at around quarter after ten that morning. I don't know how I remember the time, but I do. Perhaps it's just one of those normal details that stick with you in an attempt to normal out the rest of what happened. But he returned in his gravity room, much like the one my father had built for Goku, demanding gas. Naturally my father wanted to check the ship while it was on Earth, to make sure everything was functioning properly and perhaps make upgrades, and this meant that in the meantime Vegeta would have to stick around and wait. This was how Vegeta found himself in the shower – because there was no way I was having him around where I could smell him – and this was how he found himself dressed in yellow and pink – because my mom was laundering his outfit and also because Pansy Vegeta was amusing (and also very, very hot, as I found out as soon as he stepped out wearing his Badman shirt. Vegeta can pull off pink).

This was the day Frieza arrived, seeking revenge. This was also the day the mysterious boy from the future arrived. This was also the day that Son Goku returned to Earth. And this was the day when the boy told us that androids would be arriving in three years time. It was enough to send my head reeling.

But what do I know now that I didn't know then? For one thing, I know that the boy is Trunks Briefs, my son from another time. I know that his father is Vegeta. I know that the androids couldn't have been stopped without Vegeta's help, that Yamcha and I had never really belonged with each other, and that Vegeta didn't end up leaving after the androids.

If I knew then what I know now, where would I be? Who would I be? Who else would be with me?

Where I would be needs to be answered in two different parts: Where I would be emotionally, and where I would be physically. Physically, of course, I would still be at the Capsule Corporation. Nothing could drive me away from here for long. I would always come back. Emotionally, I would probably be lost and drained and lonely.

Who would I be? An embittered, jaded woman, grieving for her lost innocence and outlook on love and life. I would be a workaholic, drowning myself in my company and focusing on nothing else. Perhaps I would be a great scientist, with a wall full of accomplishments and my Nobel Prize, but I would not be a great person.

Who else would be with me? My parents obviously, and my friends, the Z Fighters. But I would have no one romantically, and I wouldn't have my son.

If I knew then that Vegeta and I would fall in love, I would have laughed obnoxiously in their face. _Me_, fall in love with _Vegeta_? The very idea was preposterous, and I was in love with Yamcha. I also know that I would have been afraid that this idea may be true, and so I would have refused Vegeta hospitality, instead sending him on his way to train in space. _Mi casa no es su casa_. I would have made every effort to ensure that even the slightest possibility of falling in love with Vegeta was prevented. I would have succeeded.

If I'd known that I would get pregnant I wouldn't have slept with him. If I'd known that he would be remaining on Earth, I wouldn't have slept with him. I had thought it a one-night stand, a period where I was desperate and on the rebound. I hadn't expected consequences (Trunks was a mistake, but inventing has taught me not all mistakes are bad – my son proves this) and I hadn't expected Vegeta to stick around to be a painful reminder of what I had done. But Vegeta became a father as well as a warrior – slowly, uncertainly, and somewhat hesitantly, but he took on the role nonetheless. He accepted Trunks, and welcomed him in his own proud way. When I see this, I feel that there is nothing more in life that I could possibly want.

If I'd known then what I know now, I would have lost so much. Perhaps I would have prevented some arguments with Vegeta if he hadn't been there; perhaps I would have spent more nights sleeping instead of repairing Vegeta's gravity room. But I wouldn't have Vegeta or Trunks. Would I have been willing to sacrifice these two people to spare myself some rage and exhaustion? Yes. Would I be willing to make the same sacrifice now? No.

And so I'm glad that I didn't know then what I know now, because if I had I would have made a mistake and taken the easy, so-called 'safe', way out. And everyone knows bushwhacking is more fun than sticking to the main road.


	2. ONE what the neighbours don't know

one.** what the neighbours don't know.**

His mother's mouth dropped open in a gape and his sister stared at him in bewilderment from behind her brown-tinted sunglasses. He looked from one to the other, his proud grin slowly melting away into a confused frown.

"What is it?" he finally asked.

"Takeshi…" his mother began, groping for words. "The job… your new job…"

"It's at the Capsule Corporation," his sister, Narumi, supplied bluntly.

Takeshi stared at them. "I'm well aware of that," he said hotly. "I don't see the problem; I thought you'd be proud. The Capsule Corporation is a highly respected company, just as the positions there."

His mother hesitated at first. "Yes," she admitted at last, "the Capsule Corp. is indeed a respected business. However, Miss Briefs…."

As she trailed off Takeshi's frown deepened. It had been Bulma Briefs herself who had conducted Takeshi's final interview, and he had taken a liking to the heiress. "What about her?" he demanded.

Once again, Narumi took over. "Well, there's no questioning her intelligence," she began, "nor her beauty or her wealth. But the company she keeps… well, that's a different story altogether."

At the stunned look on Takeshi's face, his mother hastened to correct his thoughts. "Narumi's not implying that Briefs is a whore!" she exclaimed. "But surely you've heard what they say. The friends who go to visit her are often said to be seen flying around… _flying_, without an aircar or plane or helicopter, just leaping off the ground into the air. And you can hear the explosions coming from the compound on a regular basis all across Western Capital--"

"I'm sure they're just experiments," Takeshi said reasonably, cutting his mother off. "The Capsule Corp. campus does, after all, have many labs and testing sites."

"The explosions were few and far between before that other man arrived there two months ago," Narumi pointed out. "Not Yamcha Takarabi, the other one, the short one with the funny hair."

"The one you think is good looking," their mother said with a hint of a smile. The colour rose in Narumi's face, and she couldn't help but grin embarrassedly.

"Apparently he's a real badass," Narumi continued in a tone that clearly said she was interested. "He threatens the employees when they get in his way, and he threatens Briefs, too."

"Oh really," Takeshi said doubtfully.

Narumi nodded almost violently. "And he's not all talk, either. Yamcha Takarabi is a martial artist, but the short guy has beat him up before."

"Oh really," he said again.

"Yes, really," Narumi said irritably. Then she paused and thought. "Well, he didn't really beat him up, but my friend's brother's girlfriend's sister said she was driving by and saw the short guy punch Takarabi in the face – so fast that she could hardly see the punch, too! – and she thinks his nose broke because of all the blood, but Briefs intervened before anything else happened."

"What a reliable source," their mother said skeptically.

"_I_ believe it!" Narumi insisted. "Have you _seen_ the guy? He's short but he's _built_. And he looks like a martial artist, just the way he carries himself."

Takeshi frowned yet again. "I haven't heard any of this, or seen him," he said. "How do you know so much?"

"You forget that Narumi is far nosier than should be allowed," his mother answered, casting her daughter a deep frown that held no annoyance. "I'll be damned if she doesn't spend most of her time driving around the city in her car trying to get a glimpse of anything that might be salvageable for gossip later. And I'll bet anything that most of _that_ time is spent near the Capsule Corp."

"That's not true!" Narumi argued. "I pass by the Capsule Corp. every day on my way to Western Capital University, obviously I'm going to see things."

"You must be a great observer to know how long it's been since that other man arrived," her mother pointed out teasingly. "And to know how 'built' he is. And to know that he doesn't just spend his life in the gym bench-pressing, but he's actually a martial artist."

"We're getting off topic," Takeshi said testily. "I don't think that Miss Briefs' personal life has anything to do with the way she runs her company. The Capsule Corp. shares haven't gone down in two months, and it's all over the news that the company's about to release the new 765 Inazuma aircar model."

"A tad late, though, don't you think?" Narumi mused. "Next year's model was always out earlier than August before. And the line won't even hit the market until September."

"You think she's slacking?"

Narumi shrugged. "It's possible."

Takeshi threw his hands up in frustration. "Why is it that you can't be happy for my new position at the Capsule Corp.?" he demanded.

"We _are_ happy for you, Takeshi-chan," his mother soothed. "Just… I don't know. I know she's your employer, but… I don't know…."

"Don't get mixed up in Briefs' personal affairs," Narumi cautioned, as her mother's words once again faltered. The older woman always had had trouble giving Takeshi advice with something he was dead-set against doing his own way.

"How would I even begin to do that?" Takeshi snapped. "I don't live there, I work there. And I'm starting off as a lower scientist, so I'll see little of Miss Briefs anyway."

"It was just a word of warning," his younger sister shot back.

* * *

At the same moment, the woman in question was sitting blearily at her kitchen table, a coffee cup folded in her hands. She had been up late for several nights and up early for just as many mornings. Sleep deprivation was finally taking its toll on her, and no amounts of caffeine seemed to be able to keep her awake and focused. What she needed most was a nice, long, undisturbed sleep. 

But even when she managed to retire to bed early, as she had that night in hopes of getting a decent amount of sleep before waking up at the crack of dawn the following morning, her dreams were plagued with horror. Submersing herself in her work, she mad managed to escape the thoughts during the day, for the most part, but she could do nothing about it while she slept. She spent her nights tossing and turning beneath her sheets, waking sporadically to find herself slick with sweat as though she was outside in the raging Indian summer heat rather than in her cool, air-conditioned home. She supposed that it wouldn't be half as bad if she forgot the nightmares as soon as she woke, though she would be frustrated to no end, but the images of the dream remained vivid in her mind, not even having the opportunity to fade before she dreamt them yet again.

Each dream was different – sometimes she was at the Capsule Corporation, sometimes she was downtown, sometimes she was at Goku's house. Sometimes, in the more terrifying dreams, she was in a completely unfamiliar place where she recognized nothing and knew no one. But in each dream the end result was the same: Androids slaughtered her friends and family, as the mysterious boy from the future tried in vain to warn them again and again. Sometimes, a swarthy figure with flame-like hair, his features blurred and distorted and hidden in shadow, would stand arrogantly in the middle of the destruction, unharmed, and she would shout to him to destroy the androids, for they were never looking in his direction. And sometimes the figure would try, but always fail. Other times, such as that night, he would turn his cold, piercing stare upon Bulma and aim his blast towards her. She always woke before the attack struck her, whether it was an attack from the androids or the shrouded man.

She knew without question who the man in the shadows was, and she understood why sometimes he helped her and why other times he meant to kill her. Prince Vegeta of the Saiya-jin had been, if he wasn't still, a murderer of innocents, who had initially arrived on her planet bent on destroying it. He had sent many of her friends to the Otherworld: Tien, Choutzu, Piccolo, and – most painful to her – Yamcha. From this came the aspect of the dream where he stared at her and sent a Ki blast in her direction.

Yet on Namek, while Bulma, Gohan, and Krillin had sought the Dragonballs, Vegeta had helped them. Arrogantly, perhaps, and most certainly unwillingly, but he had helped them nonetheless. And he had died by Frieza's hand while on Namek in his attempt to further help the Z Fighters and destroy the tyrant. Moreover, Vegeta had jumped at the chance to help defend Earth when Frieza showed up, not dead as everyone had thought, though Bulma suspected this eagerness to help was Vegeta merely wanting the opportunity to seek his revenge on the mad dictator. However, when news of the androids' arrival in three years time reached them, Vegeta made the decision to stay on Earth and help them fight that battle, too – as long as he had a gravity room similar to the one Goku had had to train in. A small price to pay for additional help, Bulma had thought, and offered Vegeta a place to stay at the Capsule Corporation. It was Vegeta's offer of allying, at least temporarily, that caused some dreams to end with Vegeta testing his skill against that of the androids; to Bulma's horror Vegeta, too, fell victim. The androids had murdered everyone.

Though she had thought it a kind, hospitable gesture at the time, not one she would fully regret later, and at least not one she would regret so soon, Bulma Briefs definitely regretted offering Vegeta free room and board at the Capsule Corporation. Not just because the egotistical warrior expected everyone, her especially, to obey and comply to his every whim when it was issued, not just because he destroyed the gravity room on a regular basis, further adding to Bulma's insane workload, not just because he had the appetite of an army of a hundred men, and not just because he liked to ignore her graciousness as though she had begged him to stay on the compound rather than inviting him openly, but because Yamcha Takarabi hated Vegeta with every fibre of his being, hated being around him, and hated the fact that Bulma lived in the same household as him.

It was perfectly understandable to Bulma that her boyfriend should so despise her houseguest – Yamcha had been killed by Vegeta, albeit indirectly. But at the same time, Bulma had often impressed upon Yamcha that Vegeta had offered his strength and fighting ability to help Earth purge itself of the androids when they arrived – whom, Bulma often reminded the scarred warrior, had completely destroyed the world in which the future boy lived. It was clear that Yamcha still loathed the Saiya-jin, and would often go on heated tangents about the insolent warrior, but he had stopped trying to convince Bulma to kick Vegeta out and force him to "live with the monkeys he rules." This comment especially had brought a chastising from Bulma, as she angrily reminded him that Goku was a Saiya-jin, too, and also had the ability to turn into an oozaru. Yamcha didn't have to like him, Bulma reasoned, but there was no reason to go causing trouble with Vegeta. The prince was like a barrel full of gunpowder and Yamcha the lighted match – if the human got too close then all hell would break loose.

But at the moment, Bulma had little sympathy for Vegeta, though she rarely had sympathy for him, as her dream replayed itself unbidden in her head. Her mind was a beehive, scrambling her thoughts in with the flashing images of the nightmare.

A dream-picture came to her mind of an android plowing through Krillin effortlessly. The short monk's eyes widened in astonishment and pain as blood spurted from his chest, staining the orange of his gi, and he collapsed onto the ground, unmoving.

The aircars were due to hit the market in a week and a half. She was content in her knowledge that all her Capsule Corporation chains across the world were making last-minute arrangements before the new Inazuma model was finally released. But she was still worried, as she always was, that she would make no profits off the new model – moreso now than usual as the release date was later than all the competing companies, later than her aircars typically hit the market, and later than she would have liked.

The androids had turned their attention to Tien, smashing the back of his head in with a single, powerful blow, rendering the cyclops useless. His skull had been pounded into the back of his brain, and there was no hope for him. Bulma watched in horror as Tien sank to the ground near Krillin, her mouth an O.

She really was tired, perhaps she should try to go back to sleep. The coffee certainly wasn't doing anything to keep her awake, it was only her fear of the dreams. Tomorrow she would have a busy day: Thirty new scientists would be starting at the Capsule Corporation and she would need to give them the grand tour before setting them to work, and then she would have to spend most of the day – indeed, most of the next few days – making sure they were settling in and doing everything correctly.

Choutzu bellowed in fury as he, too, watched the androids murder Tien. The china doll rushed out onto the battle scene, prepared to fight to the death for his friends and home. He met death much too soon, and without much of a fight, as a thin jet of energy shot from an android's index finger and pierced Choutzu right through the heart. He dropped from the sky, landing with a thud in the dirt, blood pooling around him.

She should go shopping soon, she mused. It had been a while since she'd gone to the mall, her current busy schedule allowing for little to no recreational time for herself. All recent purchases had been made online, and most of them had been necessities. Though she was somewhat materialistic, courtesy of her wealthy upbringing and continued prosperity through her adulthood, she wasn't a woman who craved the hubbub of the mall and went through withdrawals after periods without setting foot inside one. However, it had been just over two months since she'd gone, and more than the mall she just needed some time alone to relax and not worry about work or androids. But she did need to be doing _something_, occupying herself somehow, or else thoughts of three years later would creep up on her. The mall, Bulma concluded, seemed to be the perfect place to relax as she browsed through the stores, keeping her mind on shopping rather than the androids.

Piccolo went after the androids next, miraculously managing to get an attack in on them. However, the powerful Ki blast did little to the android, and it turned around calmly and returned the attack with one of its own. The force behind it was so great that it sent the Namek flying backwards into a wall that had once been part of a building – but not before it detached Piccolo's torso from his legs. Bulma had allowed herself a triumphant smirk here, for she knew that Nameks possessed the ability to regrow their limbs. But it seemed as though the android knew this too, because it walked calmly but surely towards Piccolo and drove another blast through his heart.

The groan of the ceiling told her someone was up and about upstairs – probably her father on his way to the bathroom. His habit of drinking tea right before bed ensured that he was always up during the night at some point rushing to relieve himself. A half-smile came to Bulma's lips as she looked down at her own coffee cup. She would have to remember to go to the bathroom before she went back to bed.

Gohan had watched Piccolo go down with his eyes wide, his face pale, and his mouth agape. Piccolo, who had been akin to a father to him, had been killed! and Bulma could see the absolute rage in the boy's eyes as he turned his gaze upon the murdering android. But the android spotted him before Gohan could even make a move, and the boy was felled instantly. A last, gurgling breath escaped him before he remained motionless.

Taking a sip of her coffee, Bulma found that it was cold. She was surprised that she had been awake so long, but brought the mug to the microwave for a blast of heat. She vaguely wondered if a Ki blast would warm a coffee much faster, assuming, of course, that the blast of energy didn't destroy the cup altogether. Not that it mattered, she realized, a microwave got the job done.

Goku gave a tormented cry as he watched his friends and son fall one by one to the androids. Crackling energy surrounded him in an aura, and Bulma was sure of his victory. Though she neither heard nor saw the android say it, she knew that the android had reminded the warm-hearted Saiya-jin that he was plagued by a heart disease. She knew that Goku had responded that the boy from the future had supplied him with medicine. And she knew that the android had laughed mockingly and asked why was it, then, that Goku still clutched at his heart and tried to ignore the pain. And then he, too, fell as the aura disappeared.

The beeping of the microwave brought Bulma fully back to her senses before the dream finished repeating and she wondered for a tense moment if the sound had woken anyone in the house. Then she decided she didn't care – her father was probably already awake, her mother slept through everything, and if the Saiya-jin woke then that was of no concern to her. Crankily, as she often was in her exhaustion, Bulma slammed the microwave door shut and drained the last of her coffee. Dumping the mug into the sink to be placed into the dishwasher later, she dragged herself upstairs to her room, hoping that she would dream no more of the androids and death that night. She collapsed upon her bed, forgetting to go to the bathroom, and fell into a dreamless sleep immediately, much to her relief when she woke three hours earlier.

* * *

Bulma stifled a yawn as she waited for the last of her new employees to file into the large foyer of the office building. It was nine o'clock, and although she had told the employees that work on the first day would begin at nine-thirty, she was sure that the majority of them were already there, milling about and talking amongst each other. She herself was a couple floors above them, out of view unless someone chose to look directly skyward, leaning on the rail and not fully up to descending to the crowd. The air was thick with the anxiousness and nervousness of the new employees, as though they were sixteen again and beginning their first summer job, but mostly there was excitement. And while Bulma prided herself in normally being an active, energized woman, the dark circles under her eyes that morning told a different story. 

Her secretary, Aiko, approached her a few minutes later. "Time to go down, Bulma," she told her. "It's almost nine-thirty and you have to make your introduction speech."

Bulma raised her eyebrows at the older lady. Aiko looked more the part of a company president than Bulma did at that moment. The secretary's dark hair was immaculate, her makeup appeared natural and wasn't smudged at all, and her nails were freshly manicured and neat. Even her clothes were perfect – a navy green knee-length skirt with a matching green jacket, and a cream-coloured blouse underneath, accessorized with silver jewelry and dark green heels, and Bulma couldn't help but compare this attire to her own faded jeans, white T-shirt and heavy lab coat. "It's a speech?" Bulma asked. "I always just winged it."

Aiko frowned slightly. "That's not very professional."

"Nobody would listen to anything I said if it _was_ professional. They'd tune me out within two minutes. When I wing it it's more casual and they tend to listen more." Bulma grinned. "That's what I learned from school."

Aiko rolled her eyes but chuckled slightly. "Just go downstairs."

Bulma made her way down the stairs and was immediately approached by a young woman she didn't recognize – she must of have had an interview with her father. "Bulma Briefs!" the woman gushed, grasping Bulma's hand. "It's an honour to meet you, a woman of your stature and intelligence… you must be very proud of your accomplishments!"

Bulma smiled awkwardly. "Uh… well, yes," she said, pulling her hand free.

"Is it true that you hope to win a Nobel Prize?" the woman continued, unaware that Bulma was looking rather uncomfortable. "I would love to help you with that dream. Do you have any ideas for inventions that you think might win it? I have a few suggestions, maybe you would like to hear them sometime?"

"Yeah, that'd be great," Bulma said, sidestepping away from the overexcited woman. "Later, though, right now I have to… prepare for the tour."

"Alright, then!" the woman said. "Don't let me keep you!" As Bulma watched her bounce into the crowd, she couldn't help but think that perhaps Aiko was wrong – the woman had acted like a teenager who'd finally met the superstar celebrity she'd been crushing on since as long as she could remember.

Frowning, and adjusting her lab coat to make herself appear less conspicuous, she made her way to the desk sitting to the right of the foyer. Normally there was a secretary there, but Bulma had relieved her of her duties until the tour was underway – the elderly woman was prone to fainting under stressful, loud, or exciting circumstances. And the new employees were definitely all three.

Bulma cut across the foyer near the elevators, skirting around the large group, but passing close by a group of five or so talking quietly amongst themselves. If only everyone were more reserved like that, Bulma found herself thinking as she walked by them, but she stopped short as she caught a glimpse of what they were saying.

"…they're acting as though she has less integrity because she has martial artist friends," one man was saying.

"What's wrong with having martial artist friends?" one woman asked. "Isn't that a good thing? They could act as bodyguards, couldn't they? And for Bulma Briefs I'm assuming that would probably be a good thing, having a bodyguard."

"They're saying these aren't regular people," another man said almost ominously. "They're freaks! They can fly and everything, as though they had wings."

"And then there's the short man who lives here," the first man explained. "He's like a menace to society. He threatens the employees when they bother him, he threatens Briefs, he even threatens her boyfriend."

"But isn't her boyfriend a martial artist?" the woman inquired.

"Yes, but so is this short man, and it seems as though he's even better. Apparently he got in a fight with Yamcha Takarabi and won."

Bulma stood stiffly, her head slowly turning to watch the crowd. How did they know all this? she thought furiously. What were they, paparazzi? How did they know that Yamcha and Vegeta had had a fight? How did they know her friends could fly? And how _dare_ they insult her integrity because of it?

Another woman flicked her hand dismissively. "I don't see the big deal. So Bulma Briefs has strange friends, don't we all know weird people? That doesn't make her any less of a brilliant scientist. And I don't think it questions her integrity."

"I think so!" the second man insisted. "What kind of a person lets a man live with her when he beats up her boyfriend? And apparently this man is constantly blowing things up in the back of the compound. Takeshi's right, he is a menace. I'm having second thoughts about working here, if this is the kind of people Briefs hangs around with."

"Then, sir, you can remove yourself from the compound immediately," Bulma said hotly, approaching the group. "Anyone else with second thoughts can also leave."

The group started and stared at her, awkward and embarrassed. "Miss Briefs!" the second man exclaimed. "How are you today?"

Bulma eyed him angrily. "I would be a whole hell of a lot better if you kept your nose where it belonged and didn't talk about what you don't understand."

The man shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, Miss Briefs," he said uneasily. "It's just… that's what they're saying, after all."

"They're saying that I have no integrity because my friends happen to be more talented than you?" she demanded, breathing fire. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized that it was a mistake to show her temper to her new employees, but irritated from the lack of sleep and angered by their comments, she continued on her tangent. "You are an employee, sir, not my friend. What I do in my free time and with my friends is of no concern to you! I don't think that my personal life in any way affects my business. That is all you are to concern yourself with – _my business_! I hired you all as scientists for my _business_, not my personal life! If you disagree, you know where the door is. But I won't tolerate this… mutiny in my labs, not when it has nothing to do with what you've been hired for! If you have a complaint about how I run my company, I'm willing to listen. But don't complain to me about how I live my life! Is that understood? If you are considering walking off the job – before you've even begun! – because of my lifestyle, then there is no place for you here."

The scientists stared at her. They had heard of Bulma Briefs' infamous temper, but had never fully believed it, nor expected to be witness to it so soon. More uncomfortable was the fact that the entire group of new employees had stopped talking to watch, the pitch of Bulma's voice having carried across the foyer and interrupting conversations.

While the other scientists in the group mumbled hasty apologizes, the second man's eyes narrowed. "I didn't accept this job so that you could stand here and yell at me for expressing my opinion, Miss Briefs," he said coldly.

She returned his glare evenly. "If that's your opinion than you can take it elsewhere – preferably off my compound."

"I think I will," he said, "if this is the kind of person you are. It doesn't matter how brilliant or wealthy you are, if you're a bitch then I won't put up with you."

"What did I just tell you do to with your opinions? If you don't remove yourself, I'll have you removed. And that short guy, Vegeta, he's a real prick about it and he'll make damn sure people see you being thrown off the property."

This comment caused him to shut his mouth for more than one reason. He had no desire to be pitched bodily off the Capsule Corporation compound, but it also suddenly struck him that perhaps the short guy everyone had been hearing so much about was a new security guard – and this thought especially caused him to feel exceedingly stupid. It certainly seemed to explain a lot. But with as much dignity as the shamed ex-scientist could muster, he turned his back on Bulma and walked out of the building.

"The tour's been canceled!" Bulma bellowed angrily to the crowd. "Aiko will show you to your new positions." She pointed to the secretary who had just charged uncharacteristically down the stairs at the sound of Bulma shouting, and, as all eyes turned to face her, she instantly straightened her clothes and patted her hair. Bulma, meanwhile, stomped through the doors and made her way back to her house, where she collapsed in the same chair she had occupied for much of the night before, and fumed.

They think they know everything, those ignorant, gossiping assholes! she thought. If they knew the real reason Vegeta was here, if they knew the real reason my friends fly, if they knew the real reason Vegeta was demolishing gravity room after gravity room, they wouldn't be criticizing! They would be worshipping the ground we walked on! The Z Fighters save their asses time and time again, and most certainly not for the credit. The people of Earth don't even _know_ about the threats. If they only did, I would grind it in their faces until it bloodied them, and then we'd see who thinks lowly of whom!

* * *

"Something's bothering you." 

"It's nothing."

"No, it's definitely something."

"Fine, it is something."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I don't."

Yamcha sighed, and eyed Bulma across the kitchen table. "Are you sure?"

Bulma looked up for the first time from picking at a spot on the wood, her eyes full of fire. "Do you _know_ what people are saying?" she cried.

Yamcha looked bewildered. "About what?"

"About me! About the kind of friends I have! About you, about Vegeta! About how I somehow have no… honour or some damn thing!"

Yamcha stared at her, thoroughly confused. "They're saying you have no honour? But… why? How can they say that? You're president of one of the largest companies in the world, how isn't that honourable?"

"I don't know!"

Yamcha leaned back in his chair. "Okay, explain this to me from the beginning. What happened?"

Bulma hesitated, then drew in a deep breath and threw herself into her story, her voice raising octaves as her rant progressed. Yamcha bravely held his ground and remained seated at the table, wincing only a few times at Bulma's pitch.

"…and so _finally_ I have to threaten the bastard that I'll have him thrown off the property!" she concluded loudly. Then, after a brief pause, she added rather calmly, "By Vegeta."

Yamcha looked at her rather skeptically. "You think Vegeta would actually do you a favour like that?"

"No."

"So you _lied_ to your employees?"

Bulma's eyes shot flames again. "Don't nitpick, and don't lecture me on it either. I think that's beside the point."

Yamcha nodded his agreement, then said, "But it doesn't really matter…. We choose to help people because it's the right thing to do, not because we want fame and money and recognition. I mean, yeah, sometimes it would be nice, but that's not why we do what we do. If people want to think lowly of you because of it, it isn't your problem – it's theirs. You know you can't please everyone, why bother trying? If people choose to think you have no honour or whatever it was they said, that's their own ignorance." As Bulma's face contorted into a look that let Yamcha know she was about to start yelling, he added hastily, "I'm not saying what you did was wrong! I think that the guy was an asshole and didn't deserve to work for you. And the best way to let newbies know who the boss is to put the fear of God into them, which I believe you have accomplished. They'll learn soon enough who you are as a person and a scientist, and they can either choose to change their opinions or not." He shrugged. "I'm not trying to sound wise or anything, that's just what I think. I think you should take some time to cool down. How did the tour end up going?"

"I cancelled it," she muttered. "I was pissed and tired."

"I think you should reschedule it," he said, "for all your new employees, just so they know that you have nothing against them. You don't, right?" At her head shake, Yamcha nodded. "Exactly. I just think you should do it soon before they learn their way around campus on their own and don't really care."

Bulma sighed. "I feel like an ass now. Boyfriends aren't supposed to make their girlfriends feel like asses."

Yamcha laughed loudly. "But that's the only thing we're good at!"

"That and _being_ asses."

* * *

"This is the astronomy section of our labs. We don't specialize in astronomy or space, but we have made several contributions to NASA and JAXA, so we like to keep tabs on what goes on beyond our planet." Bulma was gesturing to a large telescope as she spoke, and wisely didn't mention her Namekian or Saiya-jin friends. 

The group of fresh employees behind her made 'ooh' and 'ahh' sounds from behind her as they also pointed to the telescope and talked among themselves.

"Is this telescope open to free usage?" one young woman asked. "Would we be able to try it ourselves on our own time?"

"The telescope is open to the public for a fee," Bulma replied, "but free to all Capsule Corp. employees. The only condition is that the telescope not be used unless Tada-shi is available to supervise, since he's heads our Space and Astronomy department. This is usually any time during the standard work day, though I can't guarantee he won't be busy using the telescope himself. Public hours are Friday and Saturday from seven to nine-thirty. I also recommend not using the telescope while Vegeta-san is using it."

She had recently discovered, courtesy of Tada Hiryuu, that Vegeta used the telescope on a regular basis, breaking the unwritten rule of Tada-shi supervision while using it, and had a tendency to look through it for hours "without even noticing the time" as Hiryuu said. Bulma didn't have a hard time believing or understanding this. Vegeta had lived his whole life in space, and had never really lived on one particular planet the way he was now. He wasn't just a warrior, Bulma knew, but an adventurer too, an explorer. And she was sure that he missed the excitement and adrenaline and travel.

A low murmur rumbled through the group at Vegeta's name. And Bulma decided to take the opportunity to give an explanation – a lie, maybe, but it would bring some of the attention and mystery away from the prince. "Vegeta-san is staying with me as a houseguest while he's away from his own home. He is also acting as somewhat of a security guard in exchange for some scientific knowledge – his main interest is astronomy. He is not yet completely adapted to our Japanese lifestyle and culture, and I'm sure that he feels somewhat out of place." She allowed herself to smile and chuckle. "If you haven't already discovered, Vegeta-san can be very difficult to get along with sometimes, but I ask that you try to treat him with some respect and not try to bother him more than necessary. I imagine that he is very homesick."

The explanation seemed to suffice, as she saw even the first man from the original orientation day – the one who had been called Takeshi – process this information with ease and come to an understanding. Some people nodded, while she could see the comprehension in other people's eyes. It took some of the mystery and magic out of the strange, martial artist houseguest of Bulma Briefs, and she was sure that there would be less talk and less chance that any of these new, inexperienced employees would attempt to strike up a conversation with Vegeta. Perhaps it didn't explain her other friends, but it would make Vegeta less of a target.

As she turned around to continue conducting her tour, she smiled proudly to herself. Not only had she just evaded what could potentially be the most trouble she would have with Vegeta during his stay, but she had also redeemed herself in the eyes of many.

* * *

A/N: Just some quick notes on some of the things in this chapter: 

JAXA is the Japanese equivalent of NASA.

The suffix –shi is the middle ground between –san and –sama in terms of politeness, and is mostly used for professionals like engineers or lawyers. Since Tada Hiryuu is the head scientist for the Capsule Corp. Science and Astronomy department, I'm fairly certain he would have the status of a professional.

I used the suffix –san to mean "mister".

Thanks so much for reading guys D. And yes Erie, I'M BACK (I'll be online soon, methinks). Second chapter will be out within the next couple of weeks, after I get my tests out of the way.


	3. TWO gossip and insomnia

two. **gossip and insomnia.**

Vegeta sat with his back pressed against the cold wall. His eyes were shut and his face expressionless. He appeared to be relaxing and looked almost serene – as serene as the Saiya-jin prince could possibly seem, that is – but he was in fact the opposite.

He had woken from his dreams slick with sweat and somewhat shaken. It wasn't the first time Vegeta had experienced nightmares but that fact didn't make them any less horrifying. His eyes had skirted around the room and he'd reached out for any sign of a Ki, but had seen nothing and sensed only the Briefs in the nearby vicinity. He had attempted to go back to sleep but found he wasn't able to, so he instead perched himself atop his pillows and waited for dawn to break.

He only had four more hours to go.

His dreams had involved Frieza, of course. They usually did. In this particular one, Frieza had found Vegeta in the very room he sat in now, hauled him from his bed, and brought him downstairs where the other Z Fighters were assembled. The tyrant had instructed the group to fight him, and after a few moments hesitation, Son Goku had started the attack.

The dream Vegeta found himself wondering where Kakarot had gone a mere second later before he realized that the younger Saiya-jin had been completely annihilated.

Laughing maniacally, Frieza had picked off Gohan and then Piccolo before a Ki blast struck the side of his head. Snarling, Frieza had turned to see a mysterious boy standing nearby, sword in hand. He was in Super Saiya-jin form, and Vegeta had watched in both awe and relief. This boy would defeat Frieza.

And then suddenly the boy was no more. Frieza cackled.

Two more figures appeared from the shadows at that moment and moved stealthily to stand beside Frieza. They stood slightly behind him on either side and folded their arms, glaring about at the remaining, terrified Z Fighters. Frieza, on the other hand, did not look around. His piercing gaze fell only on Vegeta.

"You, Saiya-jin, are perhaps one of the more useless creatures in existence. You could have been a great fighter, and you could have had great power if only you'd obeyed me. I have no tolerance for rebellion." At that point he gestured to the two figures behind him. "Meet my androids. They are supreme fighting machines. They are what you could have been had you made the right decision." He shrugged arrogantly. "However, I have learned over the years not to expect much from monkeys. Androids?"

At Frieza's summoning, the androids stepped forward in sync and walked steadily towards Vegeta, who found, to his horror, that he was completely paralyzed from the neck down. He turned his head to face the other Z Fighters and nearly combusted with rage as he found them playing poker – Texas Hold 'Em by the looks of things. Would they not try to help him?

When he turned his head back towards the androids, he found himself looking directly at a hand, the palm so close that it took him a few moments to realize exactly what it was. Ki gathered in the hand…

…and Vegeta woke with a start.

He could trust no one, he concluded. He couldn't trust that Frieza was indeed dead – they had all thought so before and he had returned. He couldn't trust that mysterious boy about the androids – who knew who he was or where he had come from. He couldn't trust the other Z Fighters – they, of course, had no reason to help him whatsoever after what he'd attempted to do to them and their planet, and would probably sit idly by and watch him die as a way of vengeance. But agreeing to help was the only way Vegeta would have access to a gravity room and a means of achieving the level of Super Saiya-jin.

God, he was tired.

* * *

Mediation served several purposes. First, it helped to channel the Ki so that it was more powerful, and focus it on the parts of the body where it was needed most: Generally the hands, where the Ki blasts were formed, and the feet, where the Ki could be pushed out easier so that a person could lift from the ground faster. Secondly, it helped to calm the nerves and slow the adrenaline – it was an excellent warm-down exercise. Finally, warriors would often meditate on the up-coming battle and play the role of a prophet: They would envision the fight, and envision themselves taking the victory. In their minds, they would invent hundreds of maneuvers that their opponent could potentially use against them (often they were maneuvers that the warrior had seen before and been unprepared for) and how they could counter or evade the attack. This created confidence regarding the battle and boosted morale.

It was for these reasons that Vegeta dedicated Sundays to meditation, despite the fact that meditation was his least favourite part of training. As a boy he had never been very good at it, preferring the physical aspect of training to the mental, and he had always needed to be forced to meditate. He had struggled to block out his surroundings and focus only on his own Ki and thoughts.

That was before Frieza. Once under Frieza's control, Vegeta found that retreating to his own mind was one of the few ways that he could escape, and he was very rarely bothered during meditation since all the warriors knew the importance of it. But although meditation became easier, the circumstances under which Vegeta most often used it drove him to dislike it even more. Now, on Earth, where there was nothing to escape from, he had little motivation to meditate. Thus was the reason he slept in late on Sundays and often wandered around the Capsule Corporation campus, spending less time in the gravity room than on any other day. Vegeta was, he knew, somewhat of a procrastinator.

Inside the gravity room, Vegeta opened his eyes. He stared at the wall for a few moments to get his bearings, then uncrossed his legs and stood up, glancing quickly at the clock on the control panel. The digital read-out informed him that it was four-fifteen in the afternoon on the second of September. Vegeta frowned slightly. He had only meditated for just over two hours.

Some meditation was better than no meditation, Vegeta reasoned with himself, and he decided that he would return to the gravity room to meditate after dinner, though he knew as soon as he thought this that he wouldn't do so.

Inside the gravity room was warm, and Vegeta was sweating despite his lack of physical activity. He often changed the temperature inside the training facility so that he would be accustomed to fighting in different kinds of weather. He had started out with the temperature several degrees below zero, but the past week he had increased it so that it resembled a hot summer day with no wind. It also resulted in the smell of sweat clinging to the walls and control panel as though the machine had sucked it in. Vegeta didn't mind it, however – indeed he hardly noticed; he had grown used to the smell after spending most of his time in the public training facilities on Frieza's many planets – but he decided to open some of the windows nonetheless. He knew that the Capsule Corporation's newest aircar line would be hitting the market the following day, and planned on telling Bulma to upgrade the level of gravity the machine could impose upon a person since she wouldn't be busy with her Inazuma cars.

The open windows let in a blast of sunlight – a rarity for the gravity room due to the heavy tint put on the glass – and Vegeta found himself eager to be outside and away from his responsibility to meditate.

A group of new employees walked by just Vegeta stepped out of the gravity room, and they all froze and stared at him as though they were one person. He had already grown somewhat tired of tormenting the older employees, since they knew their place in the business and Vegeta's place in the household, but Vegeta hadn't seen these four before – they were most definitely new, and would undoubtedly provide him with a bit of amusement. Vegeta nodded at them in what seemed a polite manner, and they all visibly relaxed.

"Vegeta-san, isn't it?" one of them asked. "I'm sorry, I don't know your last name…"

"Vegeta-_san_?" he echoed, and gave them all a hard glare. "That's Vegeta-heika to you."

The group looked about each other in some confusion before the man spoke up again. With a warm smile he said, "In Japan, that suffix is used for royalty, like the monarch of a country. What does it mean where you come from?"

"The same."

As the confusion deepened on the faces of the scientists, Vegeta couldn't help but smirk.

"Well…um…what country do you rule?" the scientist finally inquired.

"Vegeta-sei."

At this, one of the other scientists burst out laughing. "Just humour him, Takeshi," he said to the other scientist. "He clearly has problems. Just play along for a moment and let's go."

The smirk vanished from Vegeta's face instantly and he fixed the other scientist with a cold glare. "You," he said, nodding at him, "what's your name?"

"_Oh_, most noble king," the scientist said, chuckling as he bowed low, "you can't possibly be interested in the name of a lowly scientist such as myself."

He suddenly found himself lifted from the ground with a hand clamped around his neck. Around the blood that was suddenly pounding in his ears, he heard gasps from his co-workers. Opening his eyes, he looked directly down into the stone cold ones of Vegeta.

"I _said_, what's your name?" Vegeta demanded, his voice low and icy.

Before the scientist could answer a shriek pierced the air, followed by, "_VEGETA_! You put that man down _right now_!"

The scientists snapped their heads around at the first shout, Vegeta's victim slid his eyes over, but the prince himself insolently turned his head a good five second after the shouting had ceased, the motion slow, to see Bulma sprinting across the compound.

She reached them in no time. "Vegeta!" she cried again, "What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

He looked at her pointedly. "What does it look like?"

"Put him down! What, are you _crazy_?"

Vegeta continued to glare at her for a few moments longer before releasing his grip on the man's throat. The scientist fell to the ground with a loud thud and gasped for breath. The other scientists, meanwhile, had put a great distance between themselves and Vegeta, and now looked uncertainly at their fallen comrade. Dare they help him?

Bulma's eyes launched a furious assault on Vegeta. It was almost a full minute before she spoke. "_You_ are a despicable prick," she said lowly, but the quietness of her tone did nothing to muffle the menace in it.

Vegeta smirked slightly and inclined his head. "Am I?"

"Yes!" Bulma shouted, infuriated. "You _are_! How dare you? Who do you think you are? You can't come here and live here for free and think that gives you the right to beat up on my hardworking employees!"

"As I recall," Vegeta replied calmly, "you offered me a place to stay. You make it seem as if I'd begged."

"Oh, and God forbid that the great Vegeta should ever beg," Bulma retorted, sarcasm pouring from her words. "I invited you because you offered to help us – I didn't have to help _you_. You could show me – everyone! – some respect! I try to help you out, and this is how you repay me? You have caused me nothing but grief since the moment you stepped through my door to stay. You're nothing but a bastard monkey."

By this time, the fallen scientist had regained most of his composure and breath, and had gone to stand by the other employees, who watched in a silent huddle. So it was that only Bulma saw the murderous flash in Vegeta's eye that turned her blood to ice. She suddenly felt ten times smaller than the prince, though she was, in actuality, about he same height. But the way Vegeta's stone eyes stared down his nose at her made her feel that she was up against a giant. She quickly tried to redeem herself.

"I don't want to see anymore of this violence," she said gently. "That's what _that_ is for," and she pointed towards the gravity room. "Just try to be nice – it's not impossible. If you want to spar, I'm sure Goku would be more than willing for the opportunity, and he would make a great opponent for you. Are you hungry? I think my mom is in the kitchen cooking right now…" She realized that she was babbling. Stop, she told herself. You're letting Vegeta know you're scared.

She noticed then that Vegeta's eyes were still fixated on her face, dark and deadly.

New tactic, thought Bulma. "Is something wrong, Vegeta?"

Whatever effect she had been hoping for, she knew it wasn't this one. Vegeta had stepped closer, invading her personal space – purposely, she knew. He thrust his face into hers and Bulma found herself desperately trying to find something else to look at besides his eyes.

"I know you aren't that stupid," he snarled, "and I don't want to have to remind you that I'm not that stupid either." Bulma just stared at him, unsure of what to say. "Don't forget who I am, bitch," he continued, "and don't forget what I can do. Is that understood?"

Bulma had the distinct feeling that she was a little girl again, caught in the act of doing something naughty. "I don't want to see anymore of that," her father would scold. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, Daddy," Bulma would reply meekly.

"That's my girl," Dr. Briefs would say. "Now come, let's go check up on the labs."

She wasn't a little girl now, and she hadn't misbehaved. She didn't deserve to be talked down to! But at the moment she was too intimidated to say this to Vegeta, so instead she said nothing.

Vegeta took her silence as insolence. "Do you understand?" he shouted, "or do you need a demonstration?"

A sudden vision of Vegeta plowing through her effortlessly rose unbidden to Bulma's mind.

"You wouldn't," Bulma blurted out, before realizing that it was quite possible that Vegeta was not bluffing.

"No?"

"No!" she cried, her logic taking control of her fear. "You see, if you did there would be no one to fix your precious gravity room – no! My father would not help you! And if you really wanted to kill me, you wouldn't be here trying to convince me that you would – you just would."

A searing heat suddenly flashed by Bulma's ear and she yelped, her hand flying to the side of her face. Vegeta's index finger was pointed in her direction.

"Let that be a warning," he growled. "You're right, I do need the gravity room. That is why I will spare your miserable life for now." He faced the group of scientists. "But no one else will be given the same treatment." With this statement, Vegeta folded his arms and made his way towards the house.

Bulma stood shaking – from rage, she told herself. Crazy, arrogant bastard! She thought. How dare he?

"Miss Briefs? Are you alright?"

She saw one of the scientists looking at her. "Get him to the medical wing," she said, nodding at the scientist whom Vegeta had strangled. "And don't piss off Vegeta anymore."

She, too, walked back to the house without a backwards glance.

* * *

"I bet I have some gossip for you that you haven't heard yet."

"Oh yeah?" asked Narumi doubtfully. "Try me."

"That Vegeta guy, from the Capsule Corp., he strangled one of my co-workers today."

Narumi's eyebrows flew upwards and their mother gave a choking cough that went unnoticed. "You're joking."

Takeshi shook his head at his sister and proceeded to tell the story.

"Good God," their mother said, aghast. "That man needs a restraining order!"

"He should actually be put in jail for assault," Takeshi said.

"No!" Narumi fairly shouted. "He's so great to stare at."

Their mother gave Narumi a dark look. "Is your co-worker pressing charges?"

"No."

"He should."

Takeshi shrugged. "He says it was his own fault."

"Was it?"

"Sort of, I guess."

"Irrelevant," their mother said. "He's a menace."

"You've said that before," Narumi said.

"Takeshi, I think you should quit."

"What?" he asked, incredulous, at the same time Narumi howled, "_Noooo!_"

She looked at Narumi with raised eyebrows. "Why does it matter to you? Besides, if I remember correctly, you were also telling Taki not to get involved in Briefs' personal affairs when he first started. Why the sudden change, hmm?"

"Yeah, exactly, I said _Briefs'_ affairs. That has nothing to do with this Vegeta character. As far as I know, he has little to do with her personal life. And look at the gossip Taki brings home! You can't deprive me of it; otherwise I'll have to get a job at the Capsule Corp. myself," Narumi protested.

Their mother seriously doubted that anything would come from that attempt, but she chose not to say anything. Instead, she turned to Takeshi.

"Honey, this man is clearly unstable. He could attack you next."

"I'm not an idiot, mother!" Takeshi argued. "I won't get in his way or give him any reason to attack me."

"See?" Narumi said. "Taki's smart."

"Don't you care about your brother's well-being?"

"Of course, mom, but I also know that he will be fine."

"Mom, you can't just tell me to quit and expect me to," Takeshi interjected. "I'm a grown man – I can make my own decisions."

Their mother gave a great 'hmmph'-ing sound and stomped from the room without another word. Takeshi sighed, shaking his head.

"So," Narumi said, "what else can you tell me?"

* * *

"I don't know what to do! He attacked that man today, for absolutely no reason! He gets insulted so easily and deals with it violently. I'm kinda scared, Goku. What if he tries to attack me next?"

Goku's voice was reassuring over the phone. "He won't, I know he won't. You have nothing to worry about."

"What makes you so sure?" Bulma asked.

"I just know." For all Goku's comforting tone, his words were somewhat less than supportive.

"But _how_?" Bulma demanded. "He's so unpredictable. One moment he'll be calm and relaxed, and the next he's out trying to rip people's heads off with his bare hands! It's like the neurons in his brain are firing off at random and he does whatever randomness pops into his head next."

Goku laughed uproariously but said nothing.

"His temper is out of control. What should I do?"

His laughter subsided. "I told you, don't worry about it. He won't hurt you."

Bulma frowned. "Okay, so supposing he doesn't hurt me… what about other people? My parents, or my employees? Or just some guy wandering down the street at the wrong time?"

"Ah, well…" Goku said. "That's kinda different."

"So you're saying he could possibly attack them."

"No. Yes. Maybe. Maybe, maybe. I don't really think so. He wouldn't have a reason to attack some guy wandering down the street. Unless he knows that guy. Maybe you should tell him to walk down the street at the right time the next time you see him, Bulma, just in case."

Bulma chose to ignore his last comment. "Vegeta has no reason to attack anyone. He nearly strangled one of my employees to death for no reason! The man was actually trying to humour Vegeta and make him feel good about himself, from what I was told, and Vegeta just went ballistic!"

Goku paused for a moment. Then, "You mean that thing about the 'your majesty' thing, right?"

"Yes."

"That doesn't seem very nice. It seems almost mean."

"Mean?" Bulma echoed. "He was doing what Vegeta so clearly wanted."

"No… I think Vegeta just wanted respect, not to be mocked. And I think that there's probably something else that happened that your employee doesn't want to tell you. He probably said something else. That's what I think. You should go ask Vegeta what happened."

"Are you mad?" Bulma burst out. "Just mentioning it could set off the neurons in Vegeta's brain again. I might end up just a pile of ash on the floor by the end of it."

"Actually, when a powerful Ki blast hits something, it makes it completely disappear and it doesn't leave any ash," Goku said, and he sounded rather pleased with himself that he knew something that Bulma didn't and that he'd had the opportunity to explain it to her.

But this didn't make Bulma feel any better. "Great! That's even worse! I'll be completely disintegrated and my parents won't even have a body."

"Why won't they have bodies? Will Vegeta blow them up too?"

Bulma held back a sigh. "What do you think? Do you think he will?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because Vegeta's here to help us, not kill us."

"How do you know that?" Bulma demanded. "Maybe his whole plan was to gain our trust and then kill us in our sleep."

"I don't think we need to trust him for Vegeta to do that if he wanted."

Bulma realized that Goku had a point. "Just tell me why you're so sure that Vegeta won't hurt me."

"I dunno. I just know that he won't."

Bulma wasn't convinced in the least, and wondered silently how Goku could possibly be so trusting of a man who tried to murder not only him, but his friends and family as well.

* * *

Bulma sat in an exhausted stupor on the couch in the living room, watching the television without really paying attention to what she was watching. She'd stopped on the history channel as the show explored ancient Mayan ruins, and was still waiting for the commercials to end and the station to return to the show without realizing that it had been over for nearly an hour. But she still found the commercial on the physics behind catapults to be somewhat interesting, albeit very long, for a commercial.

It also took her a few minutes for her brain to register that the TV had shut off, as it was programmed to do at three o'clock in the morning. She blinked as she realized that the screen had gone black, then blinked again as she realized her coffee cup had long since run dry. She sighed and stood – it was time for bed. Not even bothering to put her mug in the dishwasher, she left it on the coffee table and heaved herself to her feet.

She staggered towards the stairs and had nearly made it when a door came out of nowhere and thunked her on the shoulder. Bulma blinked as she took a couple steps backwards and then fell gently to her bottom. It was the door leading to the den, she saw, and Vegeta was standing in the doorway. She shook herself fully awake.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Vegeta gave her a pointed look. "I'm living here," he replied.

Bulma frowned at him. "You know that's not what I mean," she said. "I mean, why are you downstairs? Why aren't you in bed?"

"Training," he grunted.

"In the den?"

"No, stupid, in the gravity room."

Bulma's eyebrows descended further. "But then why were you in the den?"

Vegeta seemed to have no answer for this because he snarled at her suddenly. "Why aren't _you_ in bed?"

"Can't sleep," Bulma replied evenly.

"Well me neither."

A quick look at the darkening circles under Vegeta's eyes and Bulma concluded that he wasn't actually lying. "Really? Why not? You can't tell me that you're not tired."

"You expect me to discuss my personal life with _you_?" Vegeta sneered, and Bulma was slightly taken aback.

"I was just asking," she said. "I mean…you don't have to tell me, of course… I was just wondering if maybe I could help you or something…"

He made a sound somewhere between a snort and a scoff. "Like I need your help."

"You clearly _do_," Bulma snapped, "with the gravity room and your residence."

"I don't need your help with my life," he shot back and he folded his arms and leaned against the door frame.

"No," Bulma retorted coldly, "it's much too late for that. You're a lost cause. You needed help back when you were a boy. It's actually a pity, really, but not my problem, I guess."

A muscle in Vegeta's face jumped, and then settled back into place. "You're in no position to make a commentary on my life."

Bulma shrugged. "There isn't much to comment on. You were born, you ended up with Frieza, you trained, you murdered, you got murdered. And then you ended up here. What a life."

She watched as his whole body stiffened and his expression seemed to grow colder. There was a difference, Bulma realized, between Vegeta's scowl and Vegeta's angry scowl. Just because Vegeta was frowning and making sarcastic comments didn't mean that he was angry. Now, with his eyes smoldering and his muscles tensing, he was very obviously very mad.

"You know _nothing_," he spat. "You've lived here with your perfect, sheltered life, with your parents and money, and you dare to criticize my life? Well you're a pathetic bitch. I'd bet anything that this android scare is the most horrible thing to ever happen to your flawless life and you're shitting yourself worrying about it. That's why _you're_ not in bed, that's why _you_ can't sleep. You fear what you don't even know, and yet you make remarks on _my_ life!"

Bulma opened her mouth to reply, but Vegeta's stopped her.

"No, don't bother saying anything. Just shut up. Don't talk about what you don't know – you're smart, don't you remember how it felt when all the idiots would try to argue with you about something that you knew they knew nothing about? So just shut up. I'm going to bed." He turned from her suddenly and stomped up the stairs, making a great show of being angry as he slammed the door and bumped around noisily in his room. It was a few minutes before there was complete silence and Bulma knew that he had gone to bed.

She sat for a little while longer on the floor. She supposed that maybe what he said was true. She knew nothing of his life or the hardships he had gone through, but on the flip side he knew nothing of her life either. For all he knew, she could have had a hard childhood as well, and things were only just beginning to improve for her. But she knew that the fact was she had had an easy life, comparatively speaking. The other Z Fighters had fought to the death to save their friends and families, while she had just sat on the sidelines and watched, then gone and collected the Dragon Balls to wish them back in the end.

She knew that Vegeta's life must have been traumatic for the man to turn out the way he had. People weren't naturally so cold, bitter, and distant from everyone they ever happened to meet. They weren't naturally so untrusting of everything, and they weren't naturally so angry. But this was Earth, Bulma reasoned, and Frieza wasn't around. So why didn't Vegeta just try to make an effort to be a nicer person?

His inadvertent compliment hadn't gone unnoticed either, and Bulma found herself feeling somewhat proud. It certainly was something when Prince Vegeta of the Saiya-jin called someone smart.


	4. THREE only mortal

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. :D You guys rock.

This chapter has some direct reference to the TV show, in particular the episode entitled _Z Warriors Prepare_. I hope I got it more or less correct to the episode, it's been a while since I last saw it.

Enjoy!

* * *

three. **only mortal.**

Sounds of shouting and explosions brought Bulma rushing from the bathroom. Her mind focused on one word: androids. If they were here already, so soon, she didn't know what she was going to do. She felt a wave of nausea heave in her stomach. She hoped to God that Goku and the others knew that the androids had arrived. She hoped that Vegeta was upholding his part of the agreement.

Her legs carried her to the living room faster than they ever had, and she made her way to the window. She moved the blinds ever so slightly, just enough to see outside. She saw a small scorch mark on the lawn, and that was all. She didn't see chaos or bodies strewn about. She didn't see the androids, either. But there was another shout.

Bulma swallowed hard and moved away from the window to the front door. She unlocked it slowly, and then took a deep breath as her hand rested on the handle. Then she pulled it open almost violently and looked out through the screen door. To the far right she could see Vegeta… and a pizza man.

The blood slowly drained from her face. _What_ was Vegeta doing?

She shoved open the screen door with a loud bang, which caught the attention of both the delivery boy and Vegeta as she marched towards them

"What's going on here?" she demanded angrily. "What's all the shouting about?"

The man's face was white. He looked between Bulma and Vegeta repeatedly before asking meekly, "May I go back to work now?"

Bulma didn't answer him. Instead she rounded on Vegeta. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," replied Vegeta heatedly.

Bulma rounded on the delivery boy. "Do you want to tell me what happened, or are you going to bugger off to work right away?"

He seemed to choose the first option. "Someone here ordered a pizza…" he started slowly, "and I was just delivering it. He came up and asked me what I was doing here and I told him that I was delivering pizza."

"But I'm not _stupid_," Vegeta interjected angrily. "I know that you buy pizza at that grocery store and keep it in the deep freeze in the basement."

Bulma thought immediately of the single pizzas her parents often bought and almost laughed. Instead, she ushered the boy to go on.

"Well… he didn't believe me," the delivery man said, "so he started attacking me! And… he threw fire at me…!" His eyes widened even as he said this.

"Where's the pizza now?" Bulma asked, and the boy pointed to a spot behind her. She turned around. Somewhere during the course of what had happened, the man had dropped his box and spilled pepperoni and cheese pizza all over the ground.

She sighed. "I'm sorry about this. It shouldn't have happened. If you go to the front door, someone will pay you for the pizza."

"It's okay," he fairly squeaked. "You don't need to pay." But he took the opportunity to turn and run back to his car, stumbling over his own feet in his rush.

Bulma turned back to talk to Vegeta, surprisingly more frustrated than angry, but saw that he, too, had gone.

* * *

She chose not to bring the incident up when Vegeta arrived in the kitchen the following morning for breakfast. Instead she agreed to make him the omelettes he demanded and allowed them to lapse into a silence. At least for a time.

"I want you to make improvements on the gravity room."

Bulma nodded slowly. "I can do that," she said, "but I'm going to need some time."

"How much time?" Vegeta demanded.

"That depends on what you want improved."

"The amount of gravity, for starters," Vegeta said, "and I want you to make sure it's fully functional for space travel. I plan to leave soon."

Bulma turned from the stove to look at Vegeta for a moment. "You promise?"

He glowered at her darkly. "The faster you make the improvements I want, the faster I'll be off your miserable little planet."

Bulma chuckled, turning back to the omelettes. "Making connections. That's very intelligent of you, Vegeta."

"Just make sure you get them done."

"Just make sure you let me know what you want in writing," she replied. "How's the sleeping going?"

There was a few seconds of silence, then, "What?"

"Sleeping. I remember you said you were having problems sleeping. Is that okay now or what?"

Vegeta frowned. "Why does it matter to you?"

Bulma shrugged nonchalantly. "It really doesn't. I was just asking. I figured that by now you must be getting enough sleep, otherwise you'd be totally crazy."

"You're really very nosy, you know that?" Vegeta shot at her irritably.

"I've been told," she replied, and without another word she dumped the eggs onto a plate slid it forcefully across the table to Vegeta.

* * *

"Dad, I'm going to need you to help me a bit with the company for the next little while. Is that okay?"

Dr. Briefs sat forward in his chair and looked at Bulma with concern. "Why, is something wrong? Are you sick? Stressed?"

She shook her head and smiled reassuringly. "It's nothing like that. Vegeta gave me a list of things he wants upgraded on the gravity room a couple days ago and it's going to take me a bit to get everything done. He says that he wants to leave, so I figure the faster I get everything upgraded, the sooner he'll leave."

"He's not that bad."

"Dad… he doesn't belong here. He attacked a delivery boy because he didn't believe that he was just delivering pizza. He doesn't know that people order pizza because we haven't done it since he's moved here – he only knows about those crappy, frozen, store-bought pizzas. And he isn't happy here. He was having trouble sleeping a little while ago, and he wouldn't talk to anyone about what was bothering him. I don't even know for sure if he's okay now. He doesn't talk to anyone about anything unless he's arguing with them or telling them to do things. He'd probably be better off in space where he doesn't have to worry about other people."

"Will he be back?" Dr. Briefs asked. "To fight the androids?"

Bulma shrugged. "He didn't say anything about it, but he said he would help us so I'm assuming he will be."

"You might want to make the gas tank a bit larger if he's going on an extended trip," he suggested.

"Isn't it big enough as it is?"

"The bigger it is the longer Vegeta will be able to be away."

* * *

One improvement led to another on the blueprint, and Bulma finally decided that the project would be easier if she built an entirely new gravity room – longer, perhaps, but the end result would be far superior. Vegeta was clearly mixed about this news.

"How much longer?"

Bulma hesitated. "About three weeks."

"Three weeks?"

"But the machine will run much smoother, and the gas tank will be larger as well!" Bulma pointed out. "And you'll be able to continue using the old machine while we build the new one, so you won't miss out on any training."

Vegeta frowned as he considered this. "What about larger living quarters?" he finally asked.

"I suppose I can do that. It'll be under the training room near the cockpit."

Vegeta nodded slowly. "Three weeks, then," he said, and left to train.

* * *

"Why would you think that?" he demanded. "Are you completely insane?"

"No," she snapped back, "I'm superimposing history over the present."

Yamcha rolled his eyes. "For God's sakes, if I tell you I'm not cheating then I'm not! I've been _training_, just like everybody else! I'll bet Chichi's not accusing Goku of cheating on her."

"Goku hasn't cheated on her before. He doesn't even know the meaning of the word."

"Bulma, I'm telling you I haven't been cheating on you."

Her narrowed eyes bored into his. "If I called every single restaurant, hotel, motel, and club in the city, _none of them_ would have your name on the guest list from the past couple weeks. Is that what you're saying?"

"That's what I'm saying!" he cried. "Go ahead, call them all!"

Bulma studied him for a moment, then relented. "I believe you."

Yamcha sighed deeply. "I don't know what made you think I was cheating in the first place."

"Maybe because you haven't called or come around!"

"I'm sorry, babe, I've been busy. It looks like you've been too," he added, glancing at the forming gravity room at the far end of the lab.

Bulma nodded. "Vegeta's leaving. He wanted improvements on the gravity room, but it was easier to just rebuild it."

Yamcha's eyes widened. "Leaving?"

"That's what he said."

"But… the androids!"

Bulma grinned at Yamcha mischievously. "Are you upset by this? I never thought that _you_, of all people, would ever be upset to learn that Vegeta's leaving!"

"'Upset' is hardly the word I would use."

"Which word would you use?"

"'Concerned', maybe, or 'worried'. He's a strong fighter, and if he's actually willing to help then I guess we could use it."

Bulma's grin grew. "Yamcha just paid Vegeta a compliment!" she howled. "It's apocalyptic!"

Yamcha threw her a dirty look. "I was just stating a fact," he muttered.

"Well, Vegeta will be back. It's just a trip."

"It's too bad it's not one-way," Yamcha said, attempting to redeem himself after the unintentional compliment.

Bulma just shook her head and turned away, not noticing Yamcha's eyes fall on the gravity room.

* * *

"I wonder what's so great about this thing that Vegeta spends all his time training in it," Yamcha said as he crept up to the window of the gravity room in the middle of the compound.

"Yamcha, don't! It might not be safe," Puar cautioned, hovering nervously near the warrior's ear.

"Please, if Vegeta can handle it then I can too."

He opened the door to the machine and it unlocked with a metallic click. The ramp lowered itself to the ground and Yamcha made his way into the training facility. Puar remained just outside the door.

"Yamcha, I really don't think this is a good idea," he said.

"Relax. Just wait out there."

Yamcha studied the controls for a minute, and then turned on the machine. "What do you think?" he asked. "Three hundred times normal gravity?"

"How about one times?"

"Vegeta was training at three hundred times normal gravity today – I saw him. Better make it four hundred."

"Four _hundred_?"

Yamcha scrolled up to four hundred, and waited while the door closed behind him. Puar frowned at him as the door shut him outside. As it locked itself, the computer stated, "Initiating gravity."

Yamcha suddenly felt himself plowed into the floor, the gravity crushing him. He could barely breathe, let alone move, from the pressure on both his back and chest. He had to get to the controls and shut the gravity off. It wasn't far off, just high up, and Yamcha doubted if he could stand under all the weight forcing him down. He could just see the emergency stop button at the edge of the control panel, and forced his arm up towards it. His muscles strained and weakened as his fingertips groped for the button… just a little farther…

He barely touched it but it was enough to end the session and stabilize the gravity levels again. Yamcha heaved himself up and sat leaning against the panel, gasping for breath. For the first time in his life he felt completely useless. When the androids came, he would be weak and unprepared compared to the rest of the Z team, particularly Goku and Vegeta who were pouring their all into training. He felt tears prick the back of his eyes. He would have to increase his efforts.

* * *

"I really can't stay, I have to go train."

Bulma pouted. "You're beginning to sound like Vegeta," she accused.

Yamcha grinned weakly. "Well, it's true. We're running out of time."

"We have three years! Just stay for the rest of today. I hardly ever see you anymore…"

"Bulma, you know I want to—"

An explosion ripped through the air, and both Bulma and Yamcha froze. They stared at each other for a brief, horrifying moment before Yamcha asked in a hushed voice, "Androids?"

"I don't know. It came from the back." Bulma turned from the front door and hurried through the house. Remembering the incident with the delivery boy, she doubted that it was the androids, but still… what could make an explosion like that?

Looking out the window she saw a pile of debris, and a cry escaped her lips.

"What?" asked Yamcha coming up behind her. "What is it?" He was clearly panicked.

"The gravity room! He blew it up! Oh, Vegeta!"

A moment later Bulma was out the back door, racing across the compound. Vegeta better be okay, she thought furiously, or else… or else… She let her mind trail off as she reached the rubble and began digging through it. A moment later a hand shot up through the wreckage and she felt relief bubble up inside her. He wasn't dead.

* * *

Vegeta opened his eyes and watched as his vision cleared slowly. It took him a few moments to realize that he was inside the Capsule Corporation hospital wing, and not still outside as he last remembered. He remembered training at four hundred times Earth's gravity, and he remembered the Ki blast that demolished the gravity room. He remembered regaining consciousness and pulling himself out of the remains of the training facility only to find Bulma trying to help him. But he did not remember getting inside the building.

And he had no idea why the woman was sitting at the table beside his bed, sleeping. She didn't need to keep twenty-four hour surveillance on him – she had robots and machines to do that, and his condition wasn't that bad to warrant it anyway.

He shifted and a searing pain shot through his side. He fell back into unconsciousness a moment later.

* * *

The dream had left him uneasy. That mysterious Saiya-jin and Kakarot were not the only two in the universe who could obtain the level of Super Saiya-jin!

His father had told him that it was his destiny to reach that legendary level – he was the Saiya-jin Prince, and en elite warrior. His skills as a boy had far surpassed those of many other Saiya-jin fighters. How could it be that a third-class warrior and a Capsule Corporation supporter feel the power of a Super Saiya-jin before he did?

He threw another punch, his adrenaline pumping.

A face appeared on the large TV in the facility, and Vegeta found himself being scrutinized by an overly large Bulma.

"Vegeta! You shouldn't be training when you're hurt!" she admonished.

"Shut up!"

She scowled at him. "Jerk!" she snapped. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Leave me alone!" he howled, and a Ki blast destroyed the video communicator a second later.

He would reach the level of a Super Saiya-jin if it took him his entire life – goddamn him if he didn't!

* * *

Bulma sat back in her chair, fuming. When she'd woken the next morning she'd found that she'd never made it to bed the night before – instead she'd fallen asleep at the desk in the hospital wing. She'd also found that Vegeta was gone.

She had been so worried the day before when he'd collapsed back into the debris. He'd forced himself to stand on his own, and tried to shove Bulma off. He took a couple stumbling steps before losing consciousness and toppling back onto the wreckage. She'd seen Vegeta injured from his training before, but it was the first time he'd blown up the gravity room, and the first time that the prince had never been able to make it back to the hospital wing on his own for treatment.

She'd called for a stretcher and the on-site paramedics hurried him to the hospital wing where they'd cleaned his cuts and bandaged his injuries. The X-ray showed that he had three cracked ribs, but no bones were actually broken. They hooked him up to an oxygen tank to aid with his breathing – Bulma had noticed the shallowness of it and she and another doctor drew the conclusion that his lungs may have been bruised during the impact that cracked his ribs. And then they let Vegeta lay in bed to recover. They weren't worried – not only were the injuries not particularly bad to begin with, but everyone in the hospital wing had been informed that Vegeta wasn't human. This accounted for several things, like the fact that his normal body temperature was several degrees higher than that of a human. They'd also learned that he healed much faster than anyone else on Earth.

But Bulma was concerned for him. As little as she knew about Vegeta, she knew him better than anyone else on the compound, and she knew that he must be badly injured for him to allow himself to pass out in front of her. It was an action he would usually hold back until he was alone, if not hold back completely.

What a waste of energy her worry had been. The bastard was back up and training again, not even taking the responsibility to rest until he recovered. And he was just as ungrateful as ever, shouting at her to leave him alone and then destroying the TV screen. How she hated him.

She wondered vaguely if Yamcha had left.

* * *

"You are so irresponsible! You could have killed yourself! You were in _no_ condition to train, especially under so much gravity!"

Vegeta, trailing bandages, ignored her as he made his way into the labs.

"You're only mortal, you know, you can be injured just like everyone else! You're just too arrogant to realize it. You're unbelievable."

"How much longer?" he asked suddenly, cutting Bulma's next words off. She looked in the direction that he was pointing.

"That damn gravity room!" she screeched. "That's all you ever fucking think about, is how much you can train! You're going to kill yourself!"

He glared at her. "That's my problem, not yours. How much longer?"

"If you're in the hospital wing, you're in there for a reason!" Bulma carried on, ignoring him. "You can't just get up and leave to go train – train of all things! – especially without telling anybody! You're in the hospital wing to be monitored. You wouldn't just get up and walk out of a hospital without the doctor's permission! The same goes for the hospital wing here! Just because it's on the campus doesn't change the procedures! If you—"

"_Shut up_!" Vegeta's voice boomed through the room, and the small group of scientists in the opposite corner working on a new robot prototype looked up in alarm. Sensing danger, they gathered their blueprints and hurried from the lab.

Bulma's temper flared. "Don't you _dare_ tell me to shut up, you ungrateful prick! Not only do I give you room and board, build your friggin' gravity room, and put up with all your bullshit, but I help you when you're injured and make sure that you're taken care of properly, and then _only_ thing you can do is go back to your incessant training without thinking of the consequences, and tell me to go away! And now you're asking about your new gravity room! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"My 'incessant training' is to save your worthless planet! Don't forget the reason I'm here! I don't live here, and I won't be living here after these androids are taken care of. If I feel like training to help _you_, I wouldn't be complaining!"

"There is a time to train and a time to recover!" Bulma argued. "One day's break from training won't make the difference between life or death, but if you exert yourself too much before you're ready, _then_ it could make the difference!"

"_Every_ day spent not training is one extra day before I can become a Super Saiya-jin!" Vegeta roared. "And the longer it takes to reach that level, the less comfortable I'll be with it when the androids finally arrive!"

Bulma threw her hands into the air, her blue hair almost crackling in its afro from the emotion surging through her. "Are you still on about that thing?" she cried. "Get over yourself, Vegeta! You are not the greatest warrior in the universe! Just face the facts: Goku became a Super Saiya-jin and you didn't. That doesn't even mean you aren't strong! You're just not as powerful as Goku is! Things aren't always going to happen the way you want them to. Just suck it up and deal with it, princess."

A moment later, Bulma found herself pinned against the wall, a hand circling her neck painfully. "Say that again, woman," Vegeta snarled, his black eyes stabbing into her lighter ones. "I should kill you for that." His grip tightened around her throat and Bulma coughed, gasping for breath. "You forget who it is that you're talking to. I am Vegeta, Prince of the Saiya-jin, and I could snap your neck in an instant, before you even realized that I was there behind you."

He pulled her away from the wall suddenly, then slammed her back into it and let go of her. She slid down the wall and landed in a crumpled pile on the floor, gasping and gagging. She looked up at him, and was engulfed in terror as she saw a Ki blast fully formed in his palm, just waiting to be released.

"No," she whispered. "Please, don't."

There was a crazed look in Vegeta's eyes, full of venom and murder. He had forgotten where he was, who he was, and who was before him. He was in another time, another place, where his only purpose on the planet was to kill. The inhabitants quaked in fear before him and he laughed and mocked them before his Ki ran them through. Some of them begged for mercy; others merely accepted their inevitable death. It was the brave ones who fought back. Vegeta had liked them the best. It made the trip more enjoyable when there was a bit of a challenge before he killed them, but more than that he admired their determination. They were prepared to fight back against this suppressor until the death. It was more than he had ever done.

"Vegeta, please!"

But of all the places he had been and all the people he had killed, none of them had ever said his name before. None of them had ever known it. Who was this person who addressed him by name? Was he killing someone that he knew?

"Don't do this."

He frowned. The woman was at his feet in a heap, but her eyes looked directly into his. It was a bold move. He could see that she was scared, but there was a spark of determination in them as well. The odds were against her, and he knew that she knew this as well, but she was going to continue talking, continue attempting to get herself out of this predicament. She looked familiar.

"There's no need for this, Vegeta. Just calm down."

She was moving, pushing herself more upright with one hand while her other hand held her neck gently. She rose slowly until she was standing, her eye level almost even with his. She was either very brave or very stupid, Vegeta thought, to challenge him in this way.

Not stupid, he realized. Bulma knew what he was capable of. He'd murdered several of her friends and she'd seen him fight on Namek. She knew that he could kill her if he wanted to.

Bulma. That's who she was. She lived on Earth, owned the Capsule Corporation. Vegeta's head swam for a moment before he was slammed back into reality. He took in his surroundings: The lab, Bulma, the gravity room.

Howling like a wounded animal, Vegeta swung his arm around and launched the Ki blast. Bulma screamed and threw herself behind a nearby table as shards of metal rocketed around the room. The sound of the explosion caused her ears to pop painfully, and her hands covered her head protectively. A few seconds later the lab fell silent again, and Bulma raised her head uncertainly to see that the half-finished gravity room was completely destroyed, debris littering the floor. Vegeta was still standing in the middle of the room.

She hesitated, and then crawled out from under the table. She surveyed the damage, and saw that everything else was still intact. Glass and metal crunched under her feet as she moved nearer Vegeta. Her hand rubbed her neck as she approached him slowly.

"Vegeta?" she asked gently. "Are you okay?"

He looked over at her, his face blank as it usually was. "I'm fine," he grunted.

"What was wrong with you?"

He didn't answer her. Instead he tumbled to the floor, unconscious.


	5. FOUR solution of the accused

A/N: _So_ sorry for the long update. I've been busy and had a lot of trouble writing this chapter for some reason. I hope it's still up to the standards v.v It's shorter than the others but I feel that I ended it in a good place. I think that if I had written the next scene it would have ended up being the longest chapter in the history of stories since I'm not sure I could have ended it immediately afterwards :P

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. :D Special thanks to pitkat for your two cents. I tried to keep that in mind for this chapter (and will for future chapters too, of course).

* * *

four. **solution of the accused.**

Puar hovered around anxiously. His eyes swept over towards his friend at regular intervals, but he refrained from staring openly and pretended to be more engrossed in the infomercial advertising a food processor. Yamcha made no attempt to pretend to be interesting in the food processor, and openly fumed as he sat stiffly on the couch with his arms folded, a very Vegeta-like expression on his face.

Puar cast another inconspicuous glance towards Yamcha, and wondered if he dared ask. He knew that asking could unleash a torrent of anger that would be better kept in check until more time had passed. At the same time, Puar knew that it would help if Yamcha talked about it. He decided to dare.

"Yamcha…" he began hesitantly, "is something wrong?"

The corner of Yamcha's mouth twitched as though he wanted to speak, but he kept his mouth shut and said nothing.

"Are you mad about something?" Puar pressed.

"Mad?" Yamcha echoed.

There was a brief pause before Puar realized that Yamcha had finished talking. "Yeah. You seem mad."

"No," said Yamcha. His tone was calm but low and firm. "I'm not mad."

"But… you're acting mad…" Puar said, unsure as to whom Yamcha was trying to convince otherwise.

"I'm not mad," he repeated. "I'm goddamn furious."

Puar regretted asking. No sooner had Yamcha spoken than his fist slammed into the coffee table in front of him, successfully cracking it in two. The contents spilled onto the carpet, and Puar was sure that the Coke would leave a stain if not cleaned up quickly. But Yamcha made no move to wipe up the pop that was seeping into the floor.

Puar turned back to the livid warrior, and decided to risk it again. "But why?"

"Why?" Yamcha's eyes, narrowed slits of fury, turned to rest on Puar. "You want to know _why_?"

Puar was about to say no, he didn't actually want to know after all, but Yamcha continued on in his growing fury.

"_Maybe_ it's because Bulma rushes to help Vegeta and _totally_ forgets about me! It's his own fault that the gravity room exploded – if he wasn't so stupid and didn't push himself so hard to try to prove that he's so strong, it wouldn't have blown up and he wouldn't have gotten hurt in the first place!"

"But—"

"_Then_ Bulma spends the entire night in the hospital wing with Vegeta for God knows what reason! It's not as if he'll appreciate her concern or the time she put into making sure he was okay! That bastard deserves to rot, and if he doesn't awake from his unconsciousness after blowing himself up then that's not _her problem_!"

"How do you know she spent—"

"Her mother told me!" Yamcha roared, clearly agitated.

"That's a bit nosy, don't you think?"

Yamcha chose to ignore this comment. "I think there's something going on between those two!" he accused instead. "I think that something happened on Namek, that's what I think! And I think that's why Bulma was so willing to give Vegeta a room at the Capsule Corp. and why she was so worried when he nearly killed himself."

Puar thought this ludicrous but chose not to comment.

"What can she possibly see in that bastard?" cried Yamcha. "He's a murderous, arrogant, prick! He came to _my home_ and _killed me_! Do you understand what I'm saying? And now my girlfriend is having an affair with him!"

"You don't know that."

Yamcha looked at him pointedly. "I do know that."

"But how? You don't have any proof, Yamcha, just your assumptions."

He frowned. "Who would know for sure?"

Puar thought for a brief moment. "Goku might," he suggested after a moment. "Him and Bulma are close, aren't they?"

"Yes," Yamcha said decisively. "They are."

Without another second's thought, he reached over to the table beside the couch and yanked the receiver from the base. He jabbed the Son's number into the phone so hard that Puar thought that the phone, too, would break in two. The silence was thick in the room for a few moments before someone answered the phone on the other end.

"Hi, Chichi? This is Yamcha. … I'm fine, you? … That's good to hear. Listen, I need to talk to Goku for a minute. Is he there? … No, it's nothing to do with the androids. … Thanks."

Puar continued to wait uneasily as another hush blanketed the room. Then Yamcha began to speak again.

"Hey Goku. How's it goin'?" he asked, and Puar heard his voice become more strained as he forced himself to remain calm. "Good. I have a question for you."

"Is it about the androids?" Goku asked immediately.

"No. Chichi asked me exactly the same thing. It's about Bulma."

"Is she hurt?" Goku demanded next. "Did something happen?"

"No," Yamcha replied evenly. "I need to know if something is going on between her and Vegeta."

Yamcha felt a feeling of dread sink to the pit of his stomach at the awkward, extended silence that followed. Goku knew something, he was sure of it; the issue lay in whether or not Goku would tell him.

"Why do you ask?" Goku asked at last.

"Just tell me if there is."

"She didn't say anything to me about it."

Yamcha briefly relayed the story to Goku, explaining about Vegeta's accident and Bulma's misplaced concern. "Do you know _anything_? Did _anybody_ hint at something?"

"The only people I've talked to in weeks have been Gohan and Piccolo and I know they haven't talked to her or Vegeta."

Puar watched as Yamcha's face darkened. "So do you think they are then? Doing anything?"

"Wouldn't Bulma tell you about it if they were?"

"That isn't what I asked," Yamcha snapped irritably.

"No. I don't think they're doing anything."

"I woulda thought that _you_ of all people would be honest with me, Goku."

A small frown came to the Saiya-jin's face. Goku _had_ been honest with him. Vegeta had only moved into the Capsule Corporation three months ago, and Goku reasoned that nothing could have happened between them in such a short amount of time. Neither of them liked one another and, from what he had heard, they were actually rather hostile towards each other. Plus Goku had faith in Bulma's integrity and he was certain Bulma would let Yamcha know, somehow, if she had found someone else – especially since she herself had been cheated on by Yamcha.

"I don't understand why you would ask me what I thought if you're gonna think I'm lying anyway," Goku replied.

"Why'd you take so long to answer, then, if you aren't lying?" Yamcha demanded.

Goku's brain began running at one hundred kilometres per hour. "'Cause I couldn't understand why you'd ask something like that," he replied, the lie falling uncharacteristically smoothly from his lips. "Bulma wouldn't lie to you."

"Would you?" Yamcha asked skeptically.

"No!"

There was a long sigh and a brief pause. "I'm still worried."

"You should talk to Bulma about it. She would know best what's going on."

"I guess."

Goku's tone turned reassuring. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure nothing's going on."

"I guess not."

Puar's tail twitched as he listened to Yamcha say his good-byes and hang up the phone. The warrior sat back in the couch for a moment, before turning to face his friend. "Goku doesn't seem to think anything's going on, but he hasn't talked to Bulma in a while. He said I should talk to her."

"Will you?"

"I guess," Yamcha muttered. "But not now. I want to see if she calls or drops by first."

Goku, meanwhile, sighed in relief miles away in his small house in the mountains. How he had managed to get himself out of that predicament he was sure he'd never know. But he believed it was true what he had said – there was nothing to worry about _now_.

He also realized that something along the way had done a complete one-eighty – since when did he choose to protect a strange boy he'd met but once and an aggressive warrior who had been bent on destroying him over one of his oldest and best friends?

It was for Bulma's benefit. She had chosen Vegeta over Yamcha in the future, and Goku felt that she deserved the opportunity to make whichever decision she wanted in the present as well, without being influenced by one side or another. As long as Vegeta was seen as a neutral party, holding no competition with Yamcha, Bulma wouldn't be pressured to drive the Saiya-jin away; as long as Yamcha didn't cheat on her again, or become maddeningly jealous, or grow over-protective of Bulma in Vegeta's presence, Bulma wouldn't feel the need to push Yamcha away.

Goku thought vaguely that the future Bulma had more than likely been pushed towards Vegeta in Yamcha's attempt to keep her away from him than she had been pulled towards Vegeta by the Saiya-jin himself.

* * *

Muffled sounds reached Vegeta's ears and he strained to make them out, not daring to open his eyes until he knew who or what it was. After a few moments he realized that they were voices but it was a few seconds more before the words made sense to him.

"…can't eat right now."

"But why ever not?"

"He's not even awake, dear."

"Well, I'll just leave it here for when he wakes up."

"Who knows when that will be! Just take it back, he'll eat something when he wakes up."

"No, I'll leave it here."

There was the sound of something being placed on something else, a sigh, and then footsteps retreating. Another set of feet walked in the opposite direction, nearer Vegeta, and then there was the sound of a chair scraping back against the floor.

Vegeta allowed his eyes to open, and he saw that Dr. Briefs was seated at the desk, scribbling away. He shifted, propping himself up ever so slightly on one elbow; hearing him, Dr. Briefs looked up abruptly. He smiled warmly as he saw Vegeta watching him blearily.

"Awake, are we?"

"Observant."

The smile was instantly replaced by a frown at Vegeta's mocking comment. "Yes, well," he huffed. "Aren't you interested to know how long you've been out for?"

Vegeta shrugged, nonchalant. "An hour? Maybe two."

Dr. Briefs released a bark of laughter, loud and boisterous. "Wouldn't you like to think so?" he mused. "Try three days."

"Three _days_?"

The doctor nodded. "And two nights. You regained consciousness yesterday evening, but I don't suppose you would remember. You fell asleep almost immediately after."

"You're lying."

"'Fraid not. Today is Friday. Evening," he added, as an afterthought.

"Fuck!" Vegeta swore loudly. "I need–!"

"To train?" Dr. Briefs interrupted. "I don't think so. The reason you fell unconscious in the first place was because you over-exerted yourself before you were ready. Your body was still exhausted and trying to heal from the last accident you had. You pushed yourself to the absolute limit and your body – Saiya-jin though it is – couldn't handle the pressure you were putting on it. As Bulma put it, 'It crapped out on you.' I hope you'll learn from your mistake and rest for the next little while."

Vegeta scoffed loudly. "And who are you to stop me, old man?"

"I won't stop you if you insist on training, but I'm sure you'll realize quickly enough that if you do too much too soon your body will crap out on you again and you'll end up spending more time in the medical wing than you do in the gravity room. But you're free to do as you wish."

The calmness of Dr. Briefs' tone irritated Vegeta. It was very obvious what Vegeta's instructions were – stay in bed and rest – but the doctor twisted them until it sounded as though Vegeta had a choice in the matter. Worse was the fact that he realized Dr. Briefs had a point: If he didn't take things slowly then he'd spend the majority of the next three years in the hospital.

Finally, not knowing what else to say, Vegeta demanded food.

"You have fantastic timing," Dr. Briefs praised. "Bunny just brought dinner for you."

* * *

A chill ran down Bulma's spine as Aiko's words registered. Vegeta was awake.

"Thank you," Bulma said into the intercom quietly.

"Will you be in to see him soon?" Aiko inquired, remembering how Bulma had rarely left his bedside the first time he'd been admitted to the hospital wing after the accident. Granted, Bulma had spent much of her time in the labs since he'd been readmitted.

"No. I don't think I will."

"Is there nothing you feel you should tell him?"

"I'll pass a message along with somebody if I think of anything. I'm sure my dad will have told him everything he'll need and want to know. I'm too busy to deal with his ridiculous antics."

The first time Vegeta had landed himself in the medical wing, Aiko had understood Bulma's concern. A guest of hers had nearly blown himself up – it was not something that looked good on the Capsule Corporation's record. Not only that, but Vegeta had greatly injured himself and Aiko was amazed that he had pulled through, and was even more shocked when Dr. Briefs had shrugged it off, saying there had been no doubt that he would. This time she felt the injury could have very easily been avoided had Vegeta had more sense. She was sure Bulma felt the same way, and thus was the reason for her irritability towards him. The president of the largest company in Asia certainly had more important things to worry about rather than a moronic guest who would pull through.

"I'll let you know if any other information is sent down," Aiko said, and disconnected.

In her office, Bulma leaned back in her chair, her heart pounding. Vegeta was awake again, and that meant he would be up and about in no time. That meant he and Bulma would undoubtedly bump into each other sooner or later. That meant he might attack her again.

Bulma had taken to wearing turtlenecks and scarves the past couple days, which she credited to the cold snap that had taken hold of the city that first week of December. She had no intention of letting anyone see the dark purple bruise that encircled her neck. She had toyed briefly with calling the police but decided against it – the last thing she wanted was more negative attention shined on her because of Vegeta. Besides, Vegeta could easily wipe out the entire planet if he got backed into a corner. It would certainly solve any of his problems regarding the cops.

Bulma had felt safe and content only as long as Vegeta had been cataleptic on the other side of the compound, secured in the medical wing. Though she was sure he would spend at least one more night with the medics, he would most likely be wandering about the campus the following day. Bulma had to find something to do that would keep her out of the house for the majority of the day.

A smile came to her lips as she thought of the solution: Yamcha.


	6. FIVE ice princess

A/N: LONG UPDATES BAD! Sorry v.v This chapter was hard to do, especially the argument scene (I hope my struggles aren't obvious!). Btw, that scene in particular has a lot of profanity. Maybe it's just me, but I swear a lot when I argue :S so now my characters do too. Anyway, I've taken up enough time writing this, so I won't keep you any longer (though only a couple people actually read the A/N's anyway :P).

UPDATED. I was reading over this and I realized there were quite a few spelling and grammatical errors. Since I'm a giant nitpicker for these things I can't believe I didn't spot them before, and decided to fix them because they'll bother me otherwise. That's all :)

* * *

five. **ice princess.**

Bulma pulled into one of the visitor's spots in the garage of Yamcha's apartment. She hadn't called to let Yamcha know that she was coming, wanting to surprise him, and hoped that he was home and not out training, working, or shopping.

She took the elevator to the sixth floor and walked the familiar path to Yamcha's unit. Grinning cheekily to herself, she put a thumb over the small peephole that allowed him to look into the hall and knocked on the door. She heard movement from within and she knew that he was home. There was a moment's pause and Bulma was sure that he was attempting to look out at her. Finally she heard the chain slide open and the lock turn. The door was pulled inward.

She met with a very sour looking man indeed. Yamcha eyed her and stood unmoving in the doorway, the silence growing thick between them.

"Um… hi," Bulma tried, but her words were swallowed by the hush.

He continued to watch her, almost scrutinizing her, as she shifted uncomfortably beneath his stare.

She tried again. "Is something wrong?" she asked, feeling suddenly stupid because it was very obvious that _something_ was wrong. But after her words died away again, it gave way to more silence. What the hell is going on? she wondered.

It was finally Yamcha's voice that sliced through the quiet. "Vegeta's not here, I see."

Bulma's expression changed from one of confused worry to complete incredulousness. "No, why would he be?"

"Well, since you're so concerned about his well-being I just figured you wouldn't let him out of your sight."

Bulma gaped at him. "Excuse me?"

Yamcha eyed her. "You fell asleep at his bedside, didn't you? You didn't even notice that I'd left, and didn't bother to call me for days. Seems to me that you were pretty absorbed in how Vegeta was."

"He almost _died_!"

"Did you grieve for me like that when I _did_ die?" Yamcha suddenly roared. "If Vegeta had died I would have called it karma and not bothered to worry about it! Why are you so concerned about him and what he does and how he is? _He doesn't deserve it_! Bulma, he's a murderer! If he was human and axed people in their sleep, you wouldn't welcome him into your home! He would be in jail and you'd be following along in the news, horrified that anyone could do such a thing. And you'd go on about how jail is too light of a sentence for him and that he deserves death."

"I would not!" Bulma cried indignantly. "I'm against the death penalty and you know that!"

Yamcha threw his hands in the air. "That's besides the point! You're picking at the topic, hearing what you want to hear and ignoring everything else. If—"

He stopped suddenly as a door down the hall opened and a young woman appeared, eyeing them both touchily with barely concealed intrigue at what they had said. Returning her glare and making it obvious that their conversation was not one that she had permission to ask him about later, Yamcha opened the door wider and muttered at Bulma to come in, which she did.

She hesitated just inside the doorway as Yamcha made his way into the kitchen. "Do you want anything to drink?" he called out to her, but though his words were hospitable his tone suggested otherwise.

"Sure. Anything."

He returned a few minutes later and handed her a glass of iced tea as he headed for the living room. He sat down heavily in the armchair beside the couch and looked over at Bulma, frowning.

"Well?" he pressed, and Bulma sighed and walked to the couch to sit down.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on?" she asked once she was seated.

"I think _you_ need to be telling _me_ what's going on," Yamcha retorted irritably.

"What's going on with _what_?" Bulma cried, frustrated.

He looked at her over the top of his cup as he took a drink, his gaze piercing into her. "How long have you been with Vegeta?"

"What the hell?"

"Did something happen on Namek that you didn't tell me about? Is that the whole reason for inviting him to stay with you as long as he stays on Earth? Is that why you're so concerned for his safety and would rather sit by his bedside even though he's friggin' comatose than see me out the goddamn door?"

Bulma stared at him dumbly. Calmly, Yamcha took another gulp and put the glass down on a coaster on the coffee table while he waited for her to speak.

Her words came out more hysterical than she had intended. "Are you fucking _crazy_?" she burst out. "You're accusing me of fuckin' around with _Vegeta_? _VEGETA_? You're totally fuckin' crazy. It's _Vegeta_ for Christ's sakes!"

"I know who it is," Yamcha snapped in reply. "You don't have to remind me."

"Then where the _fuck_ are you getting all this bullshit? Are these tabloid rumours or some crap?"

"No, but I'm surprised that they're not."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Yamcha sighed and began slowly, as though he were speaking to a young child. "I'm not at the Capsule Corporation very often anymore – not since Vegeta became your houseguest, actually – because I've been busy with training. However, in the rare times that I _am_ there, for the short periods that I stay, I see how Vegeta seems to be more important in your mind than I am. If it's this obvious to me when I'm hardly ever there, how obvious must it be to your employees or parents when they're _always_ there to see how you behave?"

Bulma shook her head. "You've cracked."

Yamcha only shrugged.

"You know," Bulma said suddenly, "this whole goddamn thing reeks of hypocrisy. You realize that?"

Yamcha frowned at her. "You're absolutely right. You get mad at me for cheating on you, and then you turn around and do exactly the same thing."

"Fuck you!" Bulma screeched. "You have no friggin' idea. I meant that _you_ were being hypocritical, you bastard, since you're accusing me and getting mad at me for exactly the same thing you've done to me _several times_! And I've always taken you back! I _forgave_ you! Clearly I was delusional."

"Clearly."

Yamcha's placidness made Bulma throw her arms in the air and scream throatily. "You're so fucking stupid!"

"_I'm_ fuckin' stupid? _You're_ the one who's fucking around with Vegeta and expect me not to figure it out. _You're_ the one trying to argue your innocence."

"Who the hell told you this bullshit?" Bulma demanded.

"_Nobody_! It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out!"

A prolonged silence followed, with Yamcha reaching for his glass again while Bulma's own cup shook in her unsteady hands.

"How can you think that?" Bulma demanded finally, her voice soft as tears welled in her eyes.

Yamcha looked over at her. "What, are you _crying_ now? You're crying because I'm mad? How do you think I feel, then, whenever you accuse me of things you think are ridiculous and get mad when I try to tell you otherwise? Stop crying and suck it up, Princess."

She glared at him. "_Ridiculous_?" she echoed, her tone turning hard. "Why in God's name would I turn around and cheat on you when I know how it feels? And don't you start ranting to me about 'karma this', 'karma that'. You'll get your dose of karma alright, but _not_ from me! I'm _glad_ you think I'm cheating on you with Vegeta; now you know what it's like – except it's even _better_ because you already know and hate him! If you want to be an idiot then you _can_, but stop wallowing in your sorrow because you brought this upon yourself! _Suck it up, Princess_!" And with her final screech of rage, she pitched her cup at his head. He ducked in his seat and the cup bounced harmlessly off the wall, the ice cube inside falling out and rebounding off Yamcha's head.

And with that, she stomped out of the apartment.

* * *

It had been four days since Vegeta had woken, and three days since he'd been released from the medical wing. It was to his great irritation that Dr. Briefs still forbade him (in his freedom-giving way) to resume training in the gravity room. However, the previous evening, after finding Vegeta alternating between pacing the living room and surfing through the channels on the TV at top speed, he had told the prince that light exercise shouldn't be harmful – jogs, sit-ups, push-ups, meditation – since he was, after all, Saiya-jin.

Vegeta hadn't much liked this idea, especially not since the robots had built another gravity room – not a new one, but a replica of the old one, as they had been programmed to do. The facility was ready for use, and yet not open to him. He also was getting more and more annoyed at the fact that the new gravity room he had requested hadn't been built yet. He knew that he had blown up the foundations of it, but Bulma had yet to start it again. How much longer would he be expected to wait?

Vegeta had risen early that morning and gone for a jog nonetheless, but without the added gravity it felt to him pointless and unhelpful. He had run for two hours and had yet to break a sweat, despite the extra layers he had worn to fight the winter chill. When at last deciding to stop, annoyed at how little he had accomplished, he was on the very outskirts of the city. The metropolis had long since died into suburbs, and then they, too, had passed away. Here there were few houses scattered about, far distances from one another, and the mountains loomed closer to Vegeta than they ever had.

He paused on the top of a hill, one that overlooked a small grove of trees, currently bare, and a snaking stream, still from ice. As he looked down upon the banks, something welled up inside him, beginning in his stomach and creeping up slowly to his chest. It was an emotion of some kind, one Vegeta felt that he should be able to place. The feeling continued on, and finally settled behind his eyes, making his head feel heavy. He knew what _this_ was, at least – this was his body preparing to cry.

But _why_?

He swallowed hard, angry with himself, and stomped down the other side of the hill towards the stream. His shoes grew wet from the frost, but he hardly noticed as he approached the frozen water. He frowned at it, as though annoyed with the stream for evoking emotions, especially ones that he couldn't place, inside him.

It wasn't until he looked up, and across the hilly expanse towards the mountains again that he knew; and without warning he was sent plummeting backwards through his own memories.

He was back home, on _his_ planet, the planet he would someday rule. He was alone with his father, a rarity in such tumultuous times. He was eight and relishing in his father's presence, but still had suspicions that the king had abandoned something of importance to spend the afternoon with his son. The thought put a slight damper on his spirits, but it wasn't something that the boy let show.

"Come," his father said suddenly, "let's go this way." He held his hand out behind him as he began to walk off, an indication for Vegeta to hold it as they walked. The boy did so, asking where they were going.

"You'll see," King Vegeta replied simply, and refused to say more on the topic.

It didn't take long for the pair to reach the destination, but Vegeta was unenthused. "What's so special about this place?" he demanded. "Trees and a stream."

"The stream is frozen," the king pointed out, "but it's too warm for ice."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's always frozen." He gave his son a wry smile. "Don't you know the legend?"

"What legend?"

The king let forth a bark of laughter. "Nappa has certainly done a poor job in teaching you Saiya-jin folklore. Perhaps his fear of Frieza's influence is greater than he lets on. No matter – I shall tell you.

"They say that, thousands of years ago, there was a princess of another planet who came to visit us in hopes of an alliance. The men of that time didn't want to deal with a woman, and demanded that she send her father to discuss the issue of an alliance. She explained to them that her father was no longer living, and thus was her reason for coming – her planet was engaged in a war with another race, and all talks of peace treaties had fallen through. Her people had fought valiantly through until their king, her father, had fallen. She had no brothers to inherit the throne, and her mother was entirely indisposed to take over. Thus the planet's rule was left to her, but she was inexperienced in the art of war and her soldiers began to fall, as did their morale.

"Now this princess, though lacking intelligence in warfare, was brilliant in other ways, not to mention quite beautiful, and she attracted the interest of the son of an Elite. He was for helping her people, but not old enough or powerful enough to be influential. One evening, a few days before she was to leave Vegeta-sei and return to her home, the boy saw her leaving the comforts of the palace she had been offered due to her rank. He followed her, unbeknownst to the princess, until she reached this very spot. She stopped here, sat beneath these trees, and began to cry. She cried for her father, for her people, for the fact that no one would help her, and for her own self-pity. Her tears formed this stream; and the boy couldn't help but notice the remarkable rich blue of the water, so like her hair. His heart went out to her, and he was approaching her before he realized it, drawn to her sorrow and her beauty. She heard him coming, and turned to face him, her countenance suddenly turning black. She demanded to know why he had followed her.

"'I saw you leaving the palace,' the boy explained, bowing, 'and I wanted to know where you were going. You're very beautiful.'

"But the princess scoffed at his compliment, replying, 'What good is beauty when one will die anyway? When one grows old they lose their looks and have only their intelligence and wit to carry them. I have neither the intelligence nor the wit to save my planet and so when I am old, if I live to be old, I will have nothing.'

"The boy offered his condolences, saying that he dearly wished to help her but was unable to do so.

"She shook her head at him, silencing his words. 'It matters not,' she said, 'for there will be a time when you and your people are in danger and times of war, and there will be no one who comes to your aid.' She sneered at him then, scorned by the ignorance of his people. 'I trust you will not forget that. Nay, you will be forced to remember. This stream will be perpetually frozen as a reminder. How useless it is, completely iced over; how useless you will be when along comes a stronger tyrant and no one will be willing to help you.' And behind her, the stream crackled and turned to ice. 'But let it also be a reminder of myself,' she continued, 'for I will not do unto you as you have done unto me. When you are in times of need, I or my people cannot guarantee an army, but I can lend to you my shoulder.'"

The king stopped here, and sighed. "I think that perhaps this is the time that princess was speaking of. I don't believe anyone will help us."

"But you've sent people to search for allies," young Vegeta pointed out.

King Vegeta smiled sadly at his son, but spoke optimistically. "Yes; that's true. Someone will surely be along soon with news of an army willing to aid us."

Vegeta-sei melted away again, and Vegeta found himself sitting cross-legged on the frozen ground; he was an adult, on Earth, and alone. It was the last time Vegeta had ever spent time alone with his father, and one of the last times he had ever felt truly safe.

What stunned him, though, was the fact that he had reminisced in such a way. He had never allowed himself to become so overwhelmed in his thoughts before – besides from meditating – and certainly never about his past. He had always been too wary, too on-edge, to risk it. He'd been too afraid of what delving into his past may cause and what emotions it could bring forth; and for good reason, he thought, as he sat on the ground fighting back the tears that pricked his eyes.

He was also somewhat disgusted. He'd recalled what he'd envisioned the princess to look like – and realized now that she looked rather like Bulma Briefs.

He put his head in his hands, and one thought stood out blatantly from the rest in his mind: I need to get the hell off this planet. He was becoming too emotional, too pampered, and too easily bossed. Never before would an old scientist have been able to keep him from training.

And suddenly, he wondered what was stopping him. He had a gravity room, after all; granted, not one that he was particularly keen on going into space with, but Kakarot had gone to Namek in an even earlier version and had arrived safely. All he needed was food, of which there was great amounts already in the gravity room and even more in the house itself, and gas, available on the compound.

He would leave the following morning. He was rested enough.

* * *

Bulma awoke with the same feeling she'd had the last few mornings: She wanted to call Yamcha desperately. Instead, she rolled out of bed and headed down the stairs.

It was late in the morning when Bulma made her way into the kitchen for breakfast, as had been her habit the past couple days. Wake late, retire early, work non-stop all day, all in an attempt to avoid Vegeta whom she knew had been wandering around the compound in search of something to do while he recovered. On this particular morning, she found her father seated at the breakfast table.

"Good morning, Daddy," she greeted, and he looked up from his newspaper.

"You're up late," he commented. When Bulma just nodded, he continued, "Vegeta's well on his way to recovery."

"I see."

"He went for a jog today to get active again. He left early this morning."

This information intrigued the blue-haired woman. "Really? Did he say when he would be back?"

"No. I'm assuming later tonight, after he's run across the country a couple times." Dr. Briefs chuckled at his own joke.

Bulma suddenly felt in much better spirits than she had been since Vegeta's coming-to. "He should be back in the gravity room soon, then."

"Yes indeed."

Bulma smiled to herself as she left the kitchen, sans breakfast, and decided that she was taking the day off work. She would finally have run of the house again.

Noon found her parked in front of the TV, painting a vibrant green on her toenails to match the green of her turtleneck. The bruising had faded considerably but was still, so Bulma thought, very noticeable, and so she continued to make every effort to hide it. If anyone had found her sudden love affair with turtlenecks strange, no one had said so.

Today, for the first time that year, Bulma allowed herself to succumb to the Christmas spirit. Next week she would probably set up the Christmas tree, decorate the house, and begin her shopping, and she was growing excited. With Vegeta out of the house and in the gravity room all the time, she figured she would have little worry of bumping into him while preparing for the holiday. She had already decided against throwing a party this season, since she knew most of her friends would prefer to train and not worry about attending and purchasing presents for other attendees.

Her mind was awhirl with gift ideas and decorating schemes when the front door opened into the foyer and Vegeta walked in.

Bulma felt her whole body stiffen, and her hand immediately flew to her sweater and tugged the neck up higher. He didn't notice her, or at least didn't look her way, at first and when he did he regarded her coolly. Bulma expected him to move on without a word passing between them, and urged him silently to hurry along. But it seemed that, for once, he had no intention of leaving without first having spoken.

He made his way into the living room and paused briefly to see what Bulma had been watching on TV. Then, "I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

Bulma said nothing, just watched him like a hawk, muscles tensed. He appeared as though he had expected her to reply in some way, and as though he had more to say on the issue but felt that his words were unwelcome without her response. He hesitated near the TV for a few seconds, before deciding he didn't need an invitation to continue.

"I'm taking the old version of the gravity room and don't expect to be back for several months."

Still she said nothing, and Vegeta snorted indignantly. "No comments from the opinionated one?" he asked finally.

Bulma found herself in a position to say something. She worried that if she didn't he may lash out at her again, but felt that she had to weigh her words carefully. And while she was feeling this, she also felt disgusted with herself for being so intimidated in the first place.

At last she said, "Have a good trip."

She's scared of me, Vegeta suddenly realized, because I attacked her. He snorted out loud, which Bulma took to be directed towards what she had said.

"Of course," she added hastily, "if you don't want a good trip then it's up to you not to have one." No sooner had the words left her mouth than she mentally slapped herself. Pull yourself together! she snapped at herself.

Vegeta merely rolled his eyes and walked off, though he felt somewhat smug – even the firebrand Bulma Briefs, who always had a view on everything and refused to allow herself to be pushed around, knew what it was to come across Vegeta, and had wizened up enough to let fear be her judge when she was around him.

He had yet to completely lose his touch.


	7. SIX bar meetings and retreats

A/N: Heck yes for the end of exams! And so starts summer courses and work… :S Anyway, sorry about the wait, could've been longer though. Thanks for all the reviews, too, I'm glad that that everyone seemed to enjoy the argument scene ;) This chapter is somewhat shorter than some of the others, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

A side note on Japanese names: In Japan, first names aren't used as loosely as they are in North America. People will refer to each other by last name until they become closer with the person, and then they'll begin to use first names. Also, last names come before first names (probably for this reason). :)

* * *

six. **bar meetings and retreats.**

"Hey, sexy. Can I buy you a drink?"

Narumi shifted her eyes to the side and looked at the newcomer from under lowered lashes. "I don't know," she replied. "Can you?"

The man seemed unsure how to reply to this as he hesitated for a brief moment before replying, "I hope so…."

She flashed a smile at him. "I don't let strange men buy me drinks. Sorry."

"Gouhara Giichi," he said, extending his hand. "You are?"

"Fujihara."

He paused, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't, he prompted, "Your first name?"

"Is for me to know," Narumi shot back. "How about that beer?"

Giichi frowned slightly but waved down the bartender, slapping a twenty on the table. He turned back to Narumi. "Our last names are similar," he said.

She lifted her eyebrows briefly in a slight agreement. "Observant."

"Er… well, yeah." He sat down on the stool beside her and looked extremely uncomfortable. He'd spotted her from across the bar, and from her tiny skirt and revealing top he had concluded that she would be a good choice to take home with him for the night. Despite the clothing and initial flirtatious conversation, however, she wasn't acting very sleazy or interested in having sex.

"So what do you do, Gouhara?" she asked.

He looked up, startled. "What do I do?"

She rolled her eyes. "Your job."

"Oh!" He flushed crimson. "I'm in marketing. I work for the Capsule Corporation."

"Oh?" She leaned in a bit closer, the initial interest rekindling in her eyes. "You may know my brother, then. Fujihara Takeshi."

Giichi pondered for a moment, then shook his head. "No, the name's not familiar. I've probably seen him though. Is he also in marketing?"

"No, he's one of the scientists." Narumi waved her hand, indicating that this wasn't important. "I'm assuming that you _must_ have seen Briefs-san's houseguest, though."

"Who, Vegeta?"

Narumi paused as the bartender returned with the drinks. She took a gulp, then turned back to Giichi. "Yes, that's him. Taki says he's horrible."

Giichi nodded violently. "He's _such_ an arrogant bastard. He thinks he can boss everyone around. He doesn't even work for the company."

"How do you find Bulma Briefs?"

He smiled. "I think she's really nice. She's good at what she does – she listens to the employees but doesn't take anyone's shit. She's absolutely brilliant. And pretty, too."

Narumi shrugged, taking another swig of beer. "What did you say your first name was? Genchi?"

"Giichi, actually," he corrected as more colour rose to his face.

"Sorry, Giichi," she said. "Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"No, not yet."

"Me neither. My name's Narumi."

Giichi glanced over at her skeptically and saw her smiling at him flirtatiously again. Catching his gaze, the corner of her mouth pulled further upward and she raised an eyebrow.

"As a matter of fact," she continued, "I don't have any plans for tomorrow morning, either."

* * *

Bulma slept late, despite the brief interruption at dawn when the gravity room's rockets shook the entire building and jarred her from her sleep. Scrambling to the window, she had seen the training facility blast into the sky, shooting upwards past her window. The heat from the rockets was intense, Bulma breaking into a sweat immediately after she'd put her head out the window. She watched until the machine had disappeared from sight, and then paused as relief washed over her like a much awaited summer shower. And then she'd crawled back into bed and fell into one of the deepest sleeps she'd had since the news of the androids. 

Now she was awake, stretching and allowing herself to wake slowly, instead of leaping out of bed at the first sound from her alarm, rushing to the bathroom and sitting in her office within an hour as she'd done every day after Vegeta had attacked her. Today she would go Christmas shopping, she decided, instead of leaving it until the following week, and then call Yamcha in the evening. She missed him. Surely he couldn't still be mad.

She sat up in bed and swung her legs over the side of the mattress, slipping her feet into her comfortable slippers. As she exited the room, she took her housecoat down from the hook on the back of her door – white, like her slippers. She tugged it on and tied the sash tightly as she made her way down the stairs. For once she didn't worry about the bruising on her neck.

In the kitchen she fixed herself a breakfast of fried eggs on toast, and despite the fact that her egg was a sickening brown colour due to the butter she'd burnt in the pan, and the fact that both her pieces of toast had begun to smoke in the toaster, she found that it wasn't that bad as long as she added some ketchup.

Bulma heard the front door open and felt a bitter wind drift in from the outside. A few moments later her father tramped in, stomping his feet to bring some of the blood back to his toes. His nose and ears were bright red from the cold, and he was breathing into his hands.

"Cold?" Bulma asked, giving a small smile.

"Frozen," he corrected. "Where's Vegeta?"

"He left," Bulma said, frowning. "Didn't you hear him this morning?"

Dr. Briefs shook his head. "No. Where did he go?"

"I don't know exactly," Bulma said. "Somewhere in space. I can't believe you didn't wake up – the entire house shook."

"I wouldn't have even realized that he was gone except all the snow in the back yard melted. Must've been from the heat from the rockets."

"You wouldn't have noticed that the G.R. itself was gone?" Bulma asked skeptically.

"Of course I would have, but I would've thought you had collapsed it and brought it inside for something. Vegeta hadn't even mentioned to me that he was _interested_ in leaving for space so soon. When did he decide this?"

Bulma shrugged. "He told me yesterday that he would be leaving this morning."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"I figured you knew! Does it really matter anyway?"

"I would've wanted to perform a full system scan of the internal computer," Dr. Briefs said, "and have one of the robots scan the foundations of the facility to make sure everything was sturdy and secure."

"I'm sure everything's fine," Bulma said around a mouthful of toast and egg.

Dr. Briefs frowned at her. "You think so? Vegeta isn't exactly cautious about the way he takes care of things. The machine's walls are probably wearing thin from the inside out, and he's obviously going to continue to train while in space. I wish I could've made him a new machine before he left, with denser alloy in the walls so that it wouldn't blow up as easily. What if it explodes in the middle of space?"

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Bulma said peevishly. She really didn't care how Vegeta fared in space. If the gravity room blew up during his travels, it would be his own fault.

"I'm going to see if I can reach him," Dr. Briefs said. "He hasn't gone out of the area of the satellites' capabilities, but he may have turned off his communications." He shuffled out of the kitchen, worry etched onto his face.

"I wouldn't waste my time," Bulma called after him, but he either didn't hear or chose to ignore her.

Bulma shoved the last of her breakfast into her mouth and almost spat it back out. Suddenly no amount of ketchup could make the burnt toast and burnt-butter-fried egg edible. She dumped her plate into the dishwasher but was detained in the kitchen by the sound of the phone ringing. She reached for the phone on the wall by the fridge, putting the cordless receiver to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Bulma?" The voice was slightly panicked.

"Goku? What happened?" she asked, worry creeping into her own voice.

"Where's Vegeta?" he demanded. "Did something happen? I can't sense his Ki anywhere."

Bulma paused, and then breathed a sigh of relief. "He went into space in his gravity room."

"_What_?"

A frown crossed Bulma's face at Goku's tone. "What?" she asked, confused.

"He went into space," he echoed slowly.

"Yes, in his gravity room. It's like the one you took to go to Namek."

"Why would he do that?"

"I have no idea," Bulma replied honestly. "I don't think he's very happy on Earth."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Why is this important? The androids aren't supposed to come for over two years," she said.

"I know but…" he trailed off, but continued after a brief pause. "I guess I was just worried that something had happened. We need his help."

"Everything's fine. I don't know when he's supposed to be back, but it'll be soon. He doesn't have that many supplies to last for two years, and the gas tank isn't that large."

"Why will he need gas in space?"

"For the engine thrusters," Bulma began to explain, but decided that it would be better to just leave it at that.

"Oh. Well then… he should be back soon?"

"In about six months, I'm guessing."

There was silence as Goku considered this. "Okay," he said at last, and his characteristic cheerfulness came back into his voice. "Sorry to bug you Bulma. I was just kinda worried."

"Don't worry about it. Do you want me to call and let you know when he comes back?"

"No, I'll be able to sense his Ki. Thanks, Bulma!" And without waiting for her to say her own goodbyes, he hung up the phone.

Bulma shook her head, smiling, as she exited the kitchen. Goku had too good of a heart, she thought. He was so concerned for Vegeta, though the older Saiya-jin had no respect for him. It was almost cute, she realized, the way Goku considered him a friend and looked out for him. If Vegeta knew that, there would be hell to pay.

That evening, Bulma returned from the mall laden with bags – Christmas presents for her family, Aiko, and Aiko's family, whom she bought gifts for every year. She also had a gift for Yamcha, though she hadn't called him yet. In the store, as she stood looking at the Rolexes, she decided that she would purchase one for Yamcha and give it to him even if things weren't patched up. She could send it through FedEx.

She walked into the living room and, at the other end of the room, through the door and down the short set of stairs to the slightly sunken den, she saw that the Christmas tree was already up. She grinned happily – her father must've set it up with the help of some of the robots. She was eager to wrap her purchases and begin putting them under the tree, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. Now she had a phone call to make.

She lugged her purchases up the stairs, wishing she had thought to capsulate them, and put them in her large closet, hidden amongst her clothes and some boxes filled with childhood items. Then Bulma collapsed on her bed, grabbing her phone from her night table as she did so. She pushed the number one, Yamcha's speed dial number, and listened as it rang once, twice, thrice—

"Hello?"

She paused for a brief moment before beginning. "Hi, Yamcha. It's Bulma."

* * *

Vegeta, meanwhile, was _not_ training as one might've thought. Instead he was cooking Kraft Dinner on the stove in the kitchen below the training room, his stomach growling. He was not in a good mood. Not only had he been unable to work the oven to cook the chicken he'd wanted, but also Dr. Briefs had interrupted his training earlier that day to _lecture_ him, of all things. This had driven Vegeta to blow up the communications system, something he now regretted. Not only that, but he had discovered, upon entering his room, that his bed was completely devoid of sheets, and that there were none to be found in the entire ship. He hadn't thought to bring any – he'd assumed they would have already been provided. 

His UPS – Universal Positioning System – informed him that within the next fifteen hours he would be upon a trade planet, and he decided that he would land there and get some blankets and pillows, some extra food and water, and some more training equipment, such as weights. He wouldn't trade for it, of course. Not only did he have nothing that he was willing to trade, but he knew that he would be able to get what he wanted through stealing and threatening and deception. Deception was the most fun, as he and Nappa had learned through the years, but often required two or more people to make the lies realistic and believable. It was also the most time-consuming method, and Vegeta wasn't interested in wasting time. He would steal what he could, and persuade people to give up what he couldn't. Merchants rarely noticed a few missing items, and those who did hadn't the faintest idea who could have taken them amongst boisterous crowd. And if Vegeta was to get caught there was nothing a mere merchant could do, who at the most would be armed with a low-powered Ki blast gun, and likely unsure as to how to use it properly.

For that night, though, Vegeta, miserable, went to sleep on a bare mattress, using a towel he'd brought as a blanket and a sweatshirt as a pillow. His final thought that night before he went to sleep was that of his childhood, an image of him at the age of twelve, curled up on a rug on the floor, huddled beneath a towel he'd stolen from the public showers, a bag the only thing to cushion his head.

Perhaps he'd been a little hasty in his retreat from Earth.


	8. SEVEN affairs

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, guys. I've been busier with work than I thought I'd be. Summer classes are now over, but I've changed my work schedule to fulltime. Hope that this chapter was worth the wait.

The Nikko Kobe IceBucks (from Japan) and the Anyang Halla (South Korea) are two actual teams from Asia League Ice Hockey (http/ upped the rating on this story over the past few chapters because of the increasing language/violence/themes. This one pretty much tops the mature themes list without crossing the line of actually peeking into bedrooms. I understand that some people are offended by such mature themes, so I apologize in advance if anyone is insulted in any way, but there is a reason behind it all, not just random horny filler.

* * *

seven. **affairs.**

There was silence on the line for a few moments, the dead air hanging thick over the line, and Bulma was reminded of when she'd turned up at his apartment unannounced. For a moment she was tempted to just hang up the phone before she remembered she'd already let him know who had called. To compensate she sat down on her bedroom floor beside her bed and pulled her knees up to her chest.

"Hi," Yamcha finally replied, and Bulma was almost scared to ask the next question.

"How are you?"

"I'm good," he replied, and he sounded genuinely fine.

"What have you been up to?" Bulma asked.

"Eh," came the reply. "Not much. Working a lot. Yourself?"

The conversation was dull, meaningless, and awkward. But Bulma responded and continued, desperately trying to salvage the conversation. "I'm good. I started my Christmas shopping today. Can you believe it's December already? It feels like just a few days ago that it was August and Frieza came—" she stopped abruptly, remembering that it was that same day that Vegeta had taken up residence at the Capsule Corporation, the person whom Yamcha seemed to be blindly, insanely, foolishly jealous of.

But to Bulma's surprise Yamcha gave a little chuckle. "Yeah, I know what you mean. It's like, I looked up at the calendar one day and was like, 'What the fuck? December?'"

"And then tomorrow it'll be May and I'll be wading through shitloads of resumes and applications from students looking for summer jobs," Bulma added, and she could hear Yamcha laugh again with his agreement.

"Anyway," he said, growing serious, "I got free tickets to the IceBucks game on the thirteenth… I have two." He paused briefly, going shyly over the words. "I was wondering if maybe you would want to come with me, maybe."

On the other end, Bulma's face split into a grin, but her answer was flirtatious and teasing. "Maybe," she said."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe. Who are they facing?"

"Anyang Halla."

"From Korea?"

"Yep," Yamcha said. "Will you come?"

"Maaaaybe. But you're letting me buy dinner afterwards, got it?"

"Fine," he sighed resignedly, though Bulma knew that he'd been expecting the offer.

Bulma positively beamed. "Great. Call before you want me to come pick you up," she said, knowing that Yamcha was still devoid of a vehicle since his brand-new aircar had crashed (she'd offered to fix it up but hadn't gotten around to it with Vegeta's demands of gravity room repairs. She reminded herself to make it her next project, and decided to have it finished before Christmas).

"Did you know Vegeta left?" Bulma ventured next, poking at the issue gently.

"Yeah," Yamcha said. "I sensed his Ki traveling further away."

"Oh. Right. Goku said the same thing," she replied. It was definitely not the first time she'd forgotten about such Ki-sensing capabilities.

"He was probably concerned, right?"

"Yeah."

Yamcha scoffed. "I wonder what for. Vegeta's such a waste of energy. I was saying to Puar the other day that all the stupid, pointless people in the world should be put on an island, and then someone should drop a bomb on them."

"A bomb wouldn't kill Vegeta."

"A Spirit Bomb."

"That didn't kill him last time," Bulma pointed out.

"Fluke," he muttered irritably. "He wouldn't get lucky twice."

"You're not still mad, are you? You don't still think that I'm having an affair with Vegeta?"

"Maybe," Yamcha said, but Bulma already knew that the matter was forgotten.

* * *

"'A many others 're on board?" the human-like alien asked, his pen poised over a clipboard. He spoke in English and his accent was distinctively Cockney, and Vegeta realized that whatever microchip had been implanted in his brain to do the translating had been programmed with a London accent for any coming from Earth.

"None," the Saiya-jin replied, speaking on the same terms as the docking manager and not bothering to speak in the planet's native tongue, nor in his own. He, however, spoke with a Japanese accent, his microchip having adapted to the Japanese speech he'd so frequently been using as of late.

The other alien frowned. "None?" he asked. "Then why's yer ship so big? Yer not smugglin' anythin', 're ya?"

Vegeta snorted. "Where I come from there isn't much to smuggle."

"Ya came from Earf, ya said? There're lots of fings ter smuggle from Earf. Loike oil. Some of these bastards drink oil loike it's garn aaht of style. Cigarettes 're all the rage too. Can't get 'nuff of 'em down 'ere.

"I don't have any of either," Vegeta said shortly.

"Wot about limestone?"

"Limestone?" Vegeta echoed, incredulous. "You seriously think I'd lug a whole shipfull of _limestone_ to some God-forsaken planet to get fuckin' pocket change, if even that much?"

The docking manager shrugged. "I'm garn ter have to check yer ship." He pushed past Vegeta towards the open doorway of the gravity room, but a hand upon his shoulder stopped him before he got much farther.

Vegeta snarled at him, slipping into the language of the docking manager. "If I find that anything's missing it'll be your fucking head I'm after. And believe me when I say I won't rest until I've got it in my possession."

The smaller alien paled and nodded violently, answering in the same, clipped language. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir. I'm just going to do a quick check, just to make sure everything's in order. Not that I don't believe you, sir, but it's protocol, you understand. Just double-checking." He scurried on board, and returned a mere twenty seconds later.

"Wonderful, wonderful," he said, stopping in front of Vegeta and scribbling furiously on his paper. "Very spacious craft you have there, sir. And it came from Earth, you say? Fascinating." He tore the sheet from his clipboard, handed it to Vegeta, and began scribbling on another.

"Keep that first sheet somewhere in your ship, preferably in your cockpit or near the door. On that computer in the centre of that room should be fine," he said, referring to the gravity controls. "Keep _this_ slip on you at all times while on this planet. This just states that you're not here illegally, sir. We have a bit of a problem with illegal merchants who stowaway on other ships and sneak past security and docking management. They steal things from others and sell them as their own. Oh, make sure that you don't steal anything and retain all your receipts from every transaction because customs is going to check that you purchased anything and everything you bring back to your ship, sir. If you need to bring anything with you from your ship into the city for whatever reason that you think you may be bringing back to your ship at some point, talk to a docking manager for a legal item slip. Have a good day, sir. We hope to see you again."

Vegeta watched, amused, as the alien stumbled over himself in his hurry to get away from the Saiya-jin with his head and body still intact.

He turned his attention to the slip in his hand, and realized that this planet was strict in regards to fair play… in other words, Vegeta would have his work cut out for him when it came to getting the items he needed. He smirked to himself, slipped his paper into his boot and adjusted his armour. He'd chosen to wear it, scratched though it was, because of the volatile reputation that preceded most trading planets. He set off at a quick pace towards the city.

It was crowded and noisy. Different languages came at Vegeta from all directions, and his brain immediately began to throb as the microchip tried to process and translate everything at once. This was the thing Vegeta had always hated most about merchant planets.

Despite the fact that it was a trading planet, it was quite modern in regards to what it traded. Vegeta had seen many merchants in his voyages, and many traded the goods that had yet to be manufactured: Freshly cut wool, newly picked cotton, hunks of melted and unshaped plastic, unpolished stones. Here he could see computer chips and clothing of various sizes. One person was even trading his own variation of the armour Frieza's men wore. Food was kept fresh in battery-powered freezers that sat behind the merchant's booth.

A holographic map of the main town was in the middle of the clustered street, interrupted every so often by a person walking through this section or that, and Vegeta realized that it was more of a giant department store than anything else. It was unique to a trading planet for everything to be so organized and carry things that could be used right away, rather than made into something else.

It took Vegeta nearly an hour to walk through the crowds to the "Household Items" section, where he'd determined would be the best place to begin looking for blankets and pillows, which were definitely his top priority. He caught sight of a woman trading a lamp for a basket full of seed packets, and allowed himself to move slowly with the crowd instead of rushing through it as he realized he was in the right place.

Twenty minutes more and Vegeta had decided on which blankets he wanted: Two similar sets, one a dark blue and one white, with a bedspread, light sheet, comforter, and pillow cases. He shuffled closer to a scaly brown-skinned creature, and picked at a hand-made quilt that he wasn't interested in at all. One eye he kept on the merchant's booth, one on the street and people behind him. When a human-like creature stepped too close, Vegeta made his move.

He backed away from the booth, nodding his thanks but dissatisfaction to the disappointed merchant, and hovered on the edge of the densely packed crowed. Then, quick as lightning, his fist connected with the human-like alien's chest, winding him and sending him backwards into the scaly woman.

She toppled head-first into the blankets, causing the booth to crash to the ground. Vegeta's microchip exploded with a dozen different languages all at once. The merchant swore loudly in her telepathic manner, and the scaly woman's strange, soothing sing-song of a language didn't at all fit the profanity that she chose to use. And all around were other aliens commenting on the ignorance of the human-like one.

Vegeta resumed his place near the booth and, good Samaritan that he was, helped the woman to her feet. She looked around wildly, briefly thanking Vegeta, before demanding who 'the bastard' was. Pointing her in the right direction, the Saiya-jin slumped back from her, and watched as she rounded on a very confused looking man.

Her singing speech came out like a thrashing heavy metal band, and the man blinked his pink eyes at her in the utmost bewilderment, before yet another fist met with his face.

The melee drew the attention of everyone, merchant included, and Vegeta scooped up his blue and white sets, encapsulating them in the capsule he'd found in the near-empty storage room in his gravity room, and rushed away from the scene, smirking widely.

A few minutes later, standing at one of the pillow stands, Vegeta allowed a look of utter horror to cross his face, before he cried out loudly, "What the _fuck_ is that?" at the same moment that he allowed a small Ki blast to leave his finger tips and blaze down the street. Everyone at the booth stopped and stared as other shoppers dove out of the way of the attack, their purchases flying everywhere.

"What was that?" the others at the booth began demanding, but Vegeta had already snatched and hid his new pillow away, and just shook his head with uncertainty at the other aliens and their questions. And as he wandered away from the pillow merchant, his face melted back into its usual stoic self.

In "Recreation" Vegeta simply walked by a slug trading weights and took them, encapsulating pounds upon pounds of training equipment. The slug watched him do it, take his merchandise and put it into the funny bottle, and then looked up at Vegeta.

"Whatcha gon' give me for dat?"

Vegeta's frown deepened. "Nothing."

The slug stared at him for a few moments, then turned away to another alien who had just arrived. The slugs were always the laziest.

His last stop was the "Grocery" section, and he decided at the last minute to actually trade for the food. He paused at one merchant's booth, a pretty young woman with the most piercing orange eyes that matched perfectly with her vibrant orange hair, and leaned upon the wood.

She blinked at him, confused for a moment. She gestured towards her items. "Would you like to trade?"

He smirked at her. "I'll trade. You help me stock my ship and I'll give you the best goddamn night of your life."

One of her delicate orange eyebrows raised and the corner of her lips turned upwards into a smile. "The best?" she echoed. "Can you guarantee that?"

He leaned closer, his breath tickling her neck. "What do you think?"

There was a brief pause. Then, "What shall I tell my husband?" she asked.

"Who gives a shit," Vegeta said arrogantly, pulling back. "What to tell your husband will be the last thing on your mind."

She giggled. "Let me close the booth."

Vegeta waited while the woman loaded her stock into coolers and locked it in a cooled safe behind her booth, angrily waving away other traders who had come to her booth complaining that she was closing up. Finally joining him she said, "I'll give you what I think the night was worth."

At the dock, Vegeta smirked at the docking manager, the same one he'd dealt with before. "Do I need to show you a receipt for her?" he asked. The docking manager just shook his head and walked slowly away.

The next morning, Vegeta left with every single cooler of food.

* * *

Giichi smiled at her warmly before placing a quick kiss upon her lips. It was the third time they had met since their meeting at the bar, and he was growing increasingly infatuated with her. There was something about her, a sultry allure that reached out and grabbed at him, pulling him under… And then just as he was about to drown she pushed him away, became nonchalant about the entire ordeal, as though she couldn't care less about how he felt, or what he wanted, or the sex or passion. It was almost as if she had something else on her mind.

But that was part of the reason why he was so attracted to Narumi. Her casual attitude towards their late night rendezvous, the way she led him on and then made him work for her satisfaction… he had never before been with a woman who had played the hard-to-get game with him. He'd seen it done to others, of course. He knew the rules and understood the point of the chase, but he'd never known before that pursuing a woman's affections in such a way could be so exciting. It was more arousing even than their illicit actions – his girlfriend was currently on a business trip in England and hadn't the faintest idea that he was spending his nights with Narumi. As for Narumi herself, she was nine years younger than him, an age difference that he knew none of his friends of family would approve of.

She looked up at him from under half-lidded eyes, her lips parted and her breathing still quick from their love-making. It was a seductive expression, and Giichi knew that she meant it to look as such. She reached up, cupped his face in her hand and brought it back towards her, returning the kiss. Her lips left his mouth then, trailing downwards to his neck, where her kisses became butterfly light and her tongue dragged delicately across his skin. Then suddenly, her tongue was upon his ear, his sensitive spot, and he uttered a groan. In that instant he was ready to go again, and Narumi knew it.

Sighing softly, she let her head fall back against the pillow and she closed her eyes. Giichi looked down at her and knew the game was on.

There was, of course, a method to Narumi's madness. She didn't dare tell her friends the true reason she was sleeping with Gouhara Giichi, a man nearly a decade her senior and on the verge of engagement with his girlfriend of six years. They'd frowned at her when she had spoke of him after their initial night together, after meeting at the bar.

"He's too old, Narumi," they'd said. "Why do you want to sleep with someone you hardly know?"

"There's just something _about_ him," Narumi had sighed, leaning her chin against her palm. "I can't explain it."

She had to keep a sense of mystery about herself when with Giichi, a mystifying allure that she knew he had trouble escaping. There was an art to making him work for her, and giving in at exactly the right moment – too soon and there was no struggle, too late and there was too much. His girlfriend would return in two weeks, and Narumi knew that within that time she would have Giichi so engrossed with her that his girlfriend's arrival would change nothing.

Narumi, actress that she was, gave a slight moan as Giichi turned his attention to her breasts, the whimper sounding as though it had escaped by accident. Giichi, excited, doubled his efforts, and Narumi finally allowed herself to succumb to the pleasure. Despite the fact that this had nothing to do with Giichi, and that he was neither the reason nor motive behind the sex, it was unquestionably good.

The following morning, Narumi made her way into Giichi's kitchen, her hair intentionally tousled and her underclothes purposely left behind. When Giichi turned from the breakfast he was cooking to watch her enter, his eyes fell upon a completely naked woman, young, slender, and the biggest tease he'd ever encountered. He felt his heat rise, but decided against it for now. Four times the previous night had probably taken a lot out of her, he reasoned, and he decided to let her relax a bit. He turned back to the stove.

"Not working today?" Narumi asked, sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs.

Giichi shook his head. "It's Saturday."

"Oh right," Narumi said, feeling somewhat silly. "Of course."

"Some people do work on Saturday though," Giichi continued, helping her save face. "They take other days off throughout the week."

"Why would anyone wanna do that?"

Giichi shrugged, scooping the bacon out of the pan on onto one of the two plates beside him. Turning, he went to place the plates on the table, sliding one towards Narumi.

"I know a couple guys who do it because they don't get along with some of their co-workers, so they limit the amount of time they have to see them. One woman works Saturday and takes Thursday off so that someone is always home with her daughter… something to do with her husband's work schedule," he said.

"Makes sense I guess."

Giichi laughed suddenly. "Too bad no matter what day anyone goes in they have to see Vegeta."

"He can't be _that_ bad," Narumi said.

Giichi shrugged. "Maybe not once you get to know him, I don't know. He's gone now anyway."

"Gone?" She looked up from her breakfast. "Gone where?"

"No idea," Giichi said. "Back home, I guess. I went in yesterday and Dr. Briefs was saying he'd left early that morning."

A frown darkened Narumi's face. "Where does he live?"

Giichi shrugged again. "Don't know. Why?"

"No reason," Narumi said, but she fell uncharacteristically quiet.

Giichi, of course, chalked her silence up to fatigue, which he in turn blamed on the busy night.


	9. EIGHT secrets

A/N: That update didn't take as long as I'd expected it to. I wrote this chapter in a day (I had a day off and this is how I spend it – if that's not dedication I don't know what is!). You know how it goes – you start and then you just can't stop. So in this chapter we get a bit of insight into Narumi, and also into Yamcha. Oh, and just a disclaimer: I don't own _Marmion_ by Sir Walter Scott, to which I alluded briefly.

Note: I've fixed up the formatting in this chapter like I planned to ages ago but forgot about.

eight. **secrets.**

* * *

There were things about Fujihara Narumi that she kept secret – and by this she meant _Secret_. Giichi didn't know, her friends didn't know, and her family _definitely_ didn't know. One of these Secrets was her motive behind her "dating" Gouhara, for by now his girlfriend had returned from England and had been handed the hard news (she had, incidentally, smashed most of Giichi's belongings while she was inside gathering up the last of her things. She had refused Giichi's offer of staying at the house until she found another place, and had made several trips back and forth from her mother's place to take all of what was hers – which was, incidentally, most of what was in the apartment – and on her final trip to the apartment she'd destroyed most of what remained. And, incidentally, as she was exiting the apartment, Narumi strode up, full of seduction and confidence, straight out of whoredom as the ex-girlfriend believed, and she had tried to smash Narumi as well. It had been one hell of a catfight, complete with scratching and hair-pulling, but also a few hard and well-placed knocks on both girls' accounts, and Narumi now sported a blackened eye and a cut and swollen lip, not to mention cuts and bruises on various other parts of her body). 

Narumi also smoked weed – another one of her Secrets. Her friends knew that she smoked cigarettes, and they greatly disapproved of her habit. She didn't blaze regularly, not anymore, maybe once or twice a week, depending on her schedule, but she still considered it one of her Secrets. Worse was the cocaine she would snort on occasion, usually a couple times a month, which seemed to be whenever her "friends" could get a hold of some.

Her "friends" were yet another Secret. Nobody knew about them – they were, literally, the people her mother had warned her about during public school.

"Don't get mixed up in the wrong crowd, Narumi-chan," her mother would say. "They'll take you down the wrong path in life, and they'll get you into trouble. And how do you think your father and I would feel knowing that our baby has gone down the wrong path because of the wrong people? How do you think your life will be once you've gone down the wrong path?" Then she would smile, as always. "But I know you're smart – you won't make that mistake."

That, of course, had been when her father was still apart of her life, before he had split one night like his ass was on fire. He'd never come back, though Fujihara-san had often told her children not to worry, they'd hear from him soon. Takeshi had always clung tight to this hope, but Narumi had known better. The man was gone, and who knew to where? If he'd cared he wouldn't have left the way he had. Narumi knew this, even at ten.

Not that she strayed down the "wrong path" right away, partly because Takeshi was a good role model. He was fifteen, top of his class, and while not oozing popularity he had his group of close friends (who also happened to be intelligent and wholesome). When he was eighteen he went away to university, and Narumi, now thirteen, lacked her brother to look up to and fell victim to the "wrong people," though she wouldn't consider herself a victim.

There was the brief period when she was sixteen and seventeen when she'd smoked marijuana twice a day or more, everyday, but that part of her life was over now. She hadn't been able to afford that kind of intense habit, and she'd reasoned that if she pulled herself together, got better marks and got into university, she could get a well-paying job and then she would be able to afford the drugs and cigarettes she craved. Besides, Takeshi had returned home to take a master's course at Western Capital University and, though Fujihara-san was too caught-up in her work in her desperate attempt to support everybody fully to notice, Takeshi instantly spotted the change in his younger sister.

Now whenever Narumi went out to smoke or snort or sleep with Giichi, she used one of a few excuses: She was studying late at (pick one) school/a friend's house; or She was out with her friends at a (pick one) friend's house/bar/club (for now she was old enough to legally go to such places). Occasionally she would tell her friends that she was going out somewhere with Giichi: Going out to (pick one) dinner/a movie/a walk through the park/etc. Her "friends" never knew what she was up to, unless she was getting high with them, and they didn't care.

It hadn't taken Fujihara Narumi long to figure out what it was about Vegeta that so captured her interest – she knew that he, too, had Secrets.

* * *

Puar watched him with barely veiled disapproval, hovering close to Yamcha's head as he bustled from one room to another, much to the warrior's irritation. 

"Can you relax a bit?" Yamcha grumbled. "I'm trying to get ready; you're in my way."

Puar didn't answer, but his mask dissipated just a bit more. He continued hovering around Yamcha's ear, never straying too far and making sure that he followed him into each and every room. He watched as Yamcha stood before the bathroom window, tidied his hair and fixed his dress shirt. He watched as he took out a bottle of cologne and sprayed it strategically on his body and clothes.

"Not too much, not too little," Yamcha said absentmindedly. "What was it that Bulma used to say? _Less is more_."

He put the cologne back, checked his reflection a final time, and then headed for his room. He picked up his wallet, checked it quickly for his credit card and cash, and stuffed it in his back pocket.

"What jacket do you think for tonight, Puar?" he asked. "I'm thinking the black leather one, to match with the black outfit."

Puar finally spoke up. "I don't think that'll be quite warm enough."

"That's okay, I guess. It's not as though I'll be outside much."

"What did you say her name was?" Puar asked.

"Rizu," Yamcha replied as he tugged his jacket sleeves on.

"And what if Bulma were to find out about this Rizu?" Puar demanded. "What do you think will happen then? You guys just broke up and got back together – don't you think this is a little wrong?"

"It's nothing, Puar, just dinner."

Puar scowled. "Then why did you put that condom in your pocket?"

Yamcha's face coloured, then darkened. He rounded on his friend. "Why does it matter to you, huh? Stay out of my business. What I do with my life is my decision, isn't? It has nothing to do with you."

"You're going to hurt Bulma."

"Nothing will happen!" Yamcha repeated. "Besides, how would she find out anyway?"

Puar looked at him critically. "What if I told her?"

The look Yamcha gave him was one of complete betrayal, his eyes wide and his jaw slack. "Bastard!" he said. "You wouldn't do that! What kind of a friend are you?"

"No!" Puar squeaked. "What kind of a boyfriend are you? You told Bulma that you loved her – you _always_ tell her that you love her – but you're going on a date with another woman! Don't look at me like I'm being the backstabber here, Yamcha, you're the one cheating on your girlfriend. At least _I'm_ still doing the right thing by telling Bulma what she ought to know."

Yamcha held his fingers to his temple and gazed briefly at the floor. "Look, Puar. _Nothing is going to happen_. I don't plan to have sex with her – it's just a safety precaution. You know that I love Bulma – no, you _know_ that! – and as a matter of fact I plan on proposing to her."

It was Puar's turn for his eyes to widen and his jaw to drop. "Propose… marriage?" he asked. "Why?"

Yamcha frowned, not pleased with Puar's response. "Well… why not?" he asked. "We've been dating a long time and yeah, sure we've had our problems, but I do love her, and I'm sure that she's in love with me too."

"…but you're going to dinner with another woman…" Puar said slowly.

"It's just dinner, holy shit. Rizu knows that I'm dating Bulma and she knows that I love her. The dinner is completely, one hundred percent plutonic. Okay? I'll probably be home around midnight."

Without further ado, Yamcha left, closing the door loudly behind him, and leaving Puar feeling very much torn between his disloyal best friend and his unknowing best friend's girlfriend.

Of course Puar knew that it wasn't a plutonic dinner. If it were then Yamcha wouldn't have spent so much time and effort getting ready. He wouldn't have worn the nice black button-up shirt, and the new black dress pants, or the black belt with the silver buckle, or the classy black shoes. He wouldn't have put gel in his hair to ensure it stayed in place, and he definitely wouldn't have used cologne. And to think, thought Puar angrily, that just last night he had gone to a hockey game with Bulma!

According to Yamcha, the date had been a success. Both had enjoyed the game immensely, and the dinner afterwards had consisted of some of the best French cuisine Japan had to offer… courtesy, of course, of Bulma's wealth and status. Yamcha hadn't come home that night, opting instead to remain at the Capsule Corporation. Not that anything had happened, Puar knew. Bulma was no idiot – she wasn't about to give it up to somebody who had a history of giving it up to everybody. Perhaps for good reason, thought Puar, eyeing the door.

Early that afternoon, when Yamcha had arrived home, he'd announced that he would be going out for dinner again that night. Puar had naturally assumed that it would be with Bulma, and he asked if she would be picking him up – he'd wanted to say a quick hello since it had been a while since he'd seen her.

"No, not with Bulma," Yamcha had said, somewhat awkwardly. "This woman named Rizu. She's an old friend of mine. I ran into her on the subway on the way home."

"I've never heard you mention her before," Puar accused.

Yamcha had just shrugged.

As the hour of the date drew nearer, Puar's suspicions mounted. It was no friendly dinner when Yamcha had that spring in his step and that half-smile on his face.

And now the bomb! He was planning on proposing to Bulma Briefs? This astonished Puar more than anything else he'd heard that day – more than Rizu, more than the dinner-date.

What magazine had it been that had put Bulma Briefs in the top spot of most eligible bachelorettes in Japan? Even the American magazine _People_ had the Capsule Corporation heiress listed as one of their bachelorettes. Not that it had meant anything to Bulma – it hadn't changed her outlook on life or love, or Yamcha for that matter, and it hadn't seemed to affect Yamcha in anyway either. But Puar found it funny that a woman who men so clearly sought after should be within arms' reach of a proposal from a man who had her and sought after others. It didn't make sense.

Yamcha was making a statement, and that was all. He could say that he loved Bulma until the cows came home, but Puar knew otherwise. He loved the idea of her, loved the fact that he, a down-and-out baseball player, a martial artist who received no credit and lived in the shadows of his stronger friends, should have a claim of some kind on a woman like Bulma Briefs: Beautiful, ingenious, and wealthy in her own right. And that was all. Perhaps at one point he had loved her – certainly he'd _liked_ her, and he probably liked her still – but it was no longer enough to keep him loyal. Yamcha had long since convinced himself, though, that he was completely and madly in love with her, and, Puar thought, maybe that was the reason behind his twisted logic of going on a date with one Rizu and planning a marriage proposal to one Bulma. What he was doing with Rizu couldn't possibly be wrong, because he loved Bulma too much to hurt her.

It was ass-backwards, Puar thought. Love, or whatever this was, really was blind.

And perhaps that was true, because as Yamcha took a seat near the back of a subway car and headed into downtown Western Capital, he didn't realize just how good he had it with Bulma Briefs. He took her for granted and assumed that no matter what he did she'd always take him back at some point – she had thus far. He was blind to how fragile the relationship really was, blind to the fact that it was he who cradled the cracking affair and it was now solely up to him to pamper it until it healed, blind to how tangled his web truly was. He was blind to the fact that others would not be blind to his secrets forever.

Not that Yamcha really considered them to be secrets, not in the true sense of a _secret_. Not as in, "You have to _promise_ me you won't tell anybody…" He had never once requested that Puar keep the knowledge of Yamcha's affairs to himself, never begged him not to tell Bulma or anyone else. He had even only rarely thought of the possibility of anyone other than Puar finding out. Yet sometimes, after a particularly close call, or a particularly effective guilt-trip from Puar, Yamcha's stomach would be clenched in a cold fist of fear, usually reserved for battles, that Bulma may find out what he'd been up to. But he never really thought of his actions as secrets.

Something that Yamcha was _not_ blind to was the plunging neckline on Rizu's tiny dress. He was not blind to the way it barely covered her behind, and not blind to the faint outline of her nipples through the fabric. He was not blind to the way her black hair cascaded in waves over her bare shoulders, nor to the way her chocolate eyes seemed to melt when she looked into his own. He was not blind to the contrast of her pale skin against the black of her dress, hair and eyes, or to the vibrant red of her lipstick. He was not blind to the way she crossed and uncrossed her legs, to the way she placed a perfectly manicured hand on his thigh, or to the way she flashed her dimpling smile his way. He was not blind to what Rizu wanted that night.

Add yet another secret to his growing list: That night Yamcha returned with Rizu to her apartment.

In the morning, as she sat naked in bed smoking a cigarette, she asked him, "So what happened with you and Bulma Briefs?"

He glanced over at her as he pulled on his boxers. "What happened?" he echoed.

"Why'd you two break up?"

"Oh… just some problems. We're back together now."

Rizu's face suddenly hardened. "Is that so?"

"Yep."

"Then why are you _here_?" she demanded. "Why did you go on a date with me? Why'd you agree to spend the night here? You have a girlfriend, you jackass, why are you cheating on her?"

It was the first time ever that Yamcha had woken up with a woman who had berated him for sleeping with her, even if they'd found out that he was dating Bulma Briefs. He looked at her in surprise. "Do you know her?" he asked.

Rizu frowned. "No."

"Then… why does it matter to you? She won't find out."

Rizu's eyebrows raised, and, turning away to put her cigarette out in the ashtray on her night table, she shook her head to herself. "Well, thanks for the night, Yamcha," she said stiffly, formally. "I think it's best if you don't come around here anymore."

Yamcha sensed that feeling begin to grow in his stomach again. It was something about this woman's disapproval that made him feel that Bulma could never _ever_ find out about it. He buried it down inside of him, refused to think of it. If he didn't say anything nobody would ever know.

Puar regarded him evenly when Yamcha returned home that afternoon. "Midnight, eh?" he snapped angrily, his tiny voice shrill.

"Sorry."

"I find it _really funny_ that you'll accuse Bulma of cheating on you with Vegeta and refuse to speak to her because of it, but you'll go out and sleep with some woman you met on the subway," Puar continued. "Very hypocritical of you, Yamcha. Very smooth. And you want to _marry_ this woman! _Good luck_!"

For the rest of the day he refused to come out from under the bed, blowing raspberries in Yamcha's direction whenever he tried to coax him out, or just ignoring him altogether. It wasn't until Puar shockingly shouted at Yamcha to _piss off_ that he finally did, relieving himself in the washroom before camping out on the couch. He felt like a rejected husband.

It didn't once cross his mind that his secrets could come spilling out, or that somewhere along the line there could lay a fork in the road. His path and Bulma's had intertwined for so long that the very idea of her walking in a direction different from his own was unfathomable. He never once thought that Bulma could reject his marriage proposal; it never occurred to him that Bulma didn't love him or wouldn't want to marry him. So was the naivety of Yamcha. For all the girls he'd slept with, he certainly didn't have a way with women.

And, as irony would have it, Bulma Briefs was sitting up in bed at that very moment, her lights dimmed but not off, thinking intensely, thinking that although she cared for Yamcha, he wasn't the right one for her.

This was her secret.


	10. NINE christmas conspiracies

A/N: Yeah, it's been WAY too long since I've updated. I hope that this chapter is sufficient, considering how long it took me to get around to it. Enjoyyyy!!

nine. **christmas conspiracies.**

* * *

Christmas was upon Bulma Briefs before she realized it. It wouldn't be a particularly special event that year – she'd invited the Sons over but a cold snap had frozen the river over a few days before Christmas, and the warm, rainy spell that followed had caused the river to overflow. With both Goku and Gohan's ability to fly they would have been able to travel without any problems, but Chichi was paranoid about the house flooding and took great measures to keep it dry. As it was, early Christmas Eve morning, a bit of river water seeped under the back door, wetting the towel she'd shoved into the crack for that that reason. When Chichi had noticed later that morning when she'd woken up, her panic immediately worked itself into overdrive and she rotated the towels every hour or so, a towel barely dry – sometimes still a bit damp – by the time she went full-circle through her linen closet and began to re-use towels that had already stopped the leak. She had Gohan phone Bulma and let her know that the Sons were "having a crisis!" and were sorry that they wouldn't be able to make it.

Bulma was disappointed, of course, but understood. She knew what Chichi was like when it came to her property (damage was absolutely _prohibited_, unless she caused the damage herself in her stress and frustration) and she knew that the Sons were poor. They wouldn't be able to afford to have renovations done on their house to repair any water damage, and Chichi was far too self-reliant to accept any of Bulma's charity, though she had more than enough money to renovate the Sons' small, cottage-like house a thousand times over. Bulma kept the Sons' gifts underneath the Christmas tree for when they visited next, or when she next visited them. She'd already invited them over for New Years', but was doubtful they'd attend. Goku thoroughly enjoyed Christmas, enough to take a break from training to celebrate the occasion, but New Years' wasn't quite as enthralling. He also said that the fireworks in the sky sometimes made him feel funny, which Bulma assumed was a result of transforming by the light of the moon. Goku (and Gohan, Bulma mused) would probably countdown to the New Year with punches and kicks.

So Bulma spent Christmas with her parents and Yamcha, who'd arrived at the Capsule Corporation Christmas Eve for the Briefs' annual Christmas Eve Buffet – so ritualistic in the household that it deserved all capitals. When Dr. and Mrs. Briefs had first began the Buffet it had been a romantic, sentimental meal. Mrs. Briefs would serve a variety of finger foods, cakes, pastries, drinks (especially an abundance of eggnog), rice, rice cakes, sushi, cookies, and anything else that happened to strike her fancy that year. Bulma, when she got older, turned it into a more glamourous event. She invited all her employees and their families, and moved the dinner from the Briefs' casual living room to the large dance room at the far end of the house. She and her mother decorated the room, with help from the house bots, and set up the dining and buffet tables. Most of the food was catered, though Mrs. Briefs insisted on cooking some, such as her infamous fruitcake and her rum balls – ninety percent rum, ten percent doughnut. She also served Christmas pudding, which was approached hesitantly at first after Bulma's disastrous first-attempt the previous year. It wasn't really pudding, but actually a cake served with a pudding-like sauce – again ninety percent rum, ten percent sauce. The Christmas Eve Buffet occasionally became a drunken event, especially when some genius thought it would be funny to spike the eggnog, which seemed to be every year.

Bulma Briefs distributed the brandy fairly evenly into each punch bowl filled with eggnog. She herself carried the bowls into the hall and set them on the table. And then, as the guests began to help themselves to the spiked eggnog, either unawares of the alcoholic lacing or indifferent to it, Bulma smirked a smirk reminiscent of Vegeta at her victory.

Vegeta hadn't been heard of since he'd left, of course, since he'd blown up the communications. Dr. Briefs was optimistic that he'd contact them when he reached some sort of docking bay or a technologically advanced planet capable of reaching earth through satellite. Bulma highly doubted this and didn't particularly care either way. When he first left she'd thought of him quite a bit – not in the sense that she missed him or worried about where he was or what kind of trouble he'd run into, but merely because he'd been such a commanding part of her life for the past several months that it was strange to suddenly have him gone. Now she realized that she thought of him less and less, sometimes not at all until something happened that triggered a brief memory of him. But brief memories were all they were.

Instead she thought of Yamcha more and more, but not in the head-over-heels in love, half-obsessed way she used to think of him when she was a girl. It was a more blasé kind of thinking, trimmed with anxiety. She knew that, ultimately, she would leave him, if he didn't leave her first. She knew now that she had no future with him. She estimated she would be with him only another year at the most. She also suspected that he had cheated on her recently, though she wasn't sure what led her to think this. She had some sort of intuitive feeling, which were generally on the mark when it came to Yamcha and his womanizing antics.

She was now almost comfortable with the knowledge that she had no future with Yamcha – at least accepting of it. It upset her less and less to realize that she _would_ be fine without him. The relationship, she knew, was teetering on the edge of the cliff and it was now just a matter of when she decided to leap… or was pushed, depending on the circumstance. Bulma decided that if she had any say in the way the relationship ended she wouldn't jump until they began to have problems – which they undoubtedly would. They always did.

Bulma woke early on Christmas morning, a habit she maintained from childhood, and immediately looked out the window. It hadn't snowed; it rarely did in Western Capital. She made her way down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast: English muffins and eggnog, coffee, hot chocolate, and tea, for herself, Yamcha, Mrs. Briefs and Dr. Briefs respectively. She also decided at the last minute on some sausages, and by the time she was finished burning down the house cooking everyone else had woken up.

"It's too bad Vegeta's not here," Mrs. Briefs said as she helped Bulma carry the trays of food into the den. "Do you think he would have liked Christmas?"

"No," Bulma said. "He would probably hate it?"

"But _why_?" Mrs. Briefs asked, genuinely confused. "It's such a joyous time of year!"

"That's exactly why he would hate it."

"But _why_? He seems like such a nice guy. I'm sure he would like it."

Bulma stared at her mother, incredulous, but didn't pursue the subject. What was the point? It was better for the blonde woman to continue thinking that Vegeta was "a nice guy", else she might lose her sanity. Or at least her innocence. And Bulma thought that the _worst_ kind of person is one who has neither innocence nor intelligence. What kind of troubled person would that be?

They exchanged gifts in the den by the Christmas tree; all four of them, and Mrs. Briefs remarked that they were "like the perfect family." Looking at Yamcha's beaming face, Bulma Briefs felt sick to her stomach.

* * *

Contrary to the damp, green Christmas of Western Capital, and despite the warm spell that had caused flooding in the mountain region, Son Gohan awoke to find the world dusted in snow. He bounced off his futon and rushed into his parents' room, trampling all over their own.

"Mom! Dad! Wake up! It's Christmas, it's Christmas! And it's _snowing_!"

Goku, child that he was, sat up straight from underneath the sheets, sharing his son's excitement. Chichi breathed a sigh of relief. No more flooding.

Gohan and Goku hurried into the living room where their modest and sparsely decorated Christmas tree sat, with as many presents for Gohan underneath that the Sons had been able to afford. Chichi had, of course, gotten him several school-related gifts: a new calculator, a fresh compass set and some more work books, but she also got him, to everyone's surprise, a new gi.

Piccolo spent Christmas with the Sons as well, to Gohan's obvious enjoyment. Chichi was beginning to resent his company less and less, partially because she was growing accustomed to his presence, partially because it was clear how much Gohan adored him and how well Goku got along with him, but also because she didn't have to spend even more money on food for him (and she spent far too much money on food, in her opinion).

After the Christmas feast (and Piccolo's numerous glasses of water), Goku leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "That's was great, Chi," he praised, as he often did. She smiled modestly.

"It's too bad Vegeta had to go away," Goku carried on, and Chichi's smile turned into a sharp look. "He missed his first Christmas!"

"Hopefully he misses _all_ his Christmases," Chichi said bitterly, and began to clear away the table. She missed the sideways glance Goku and Piccolo shared.

"Don't count on it," Piccolo grunted, quietly he thought, but Chichi had picked up on it.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Sensing danger, Gohan fled the scene, gathering his gifts and hauling them to his bedroom.

"I just mean that he agreed to help us defeat the androids," Piccolo said casually. "There's still two and a half years before they arrive. That's two more Christmases that will come around, and Vegeta's bound to be on Earth for at least _one_ of them, when Bulma makes it such a big deal."

Chichi 'hmphed' and tended to her dishes.

* * *

The star of so many conversations that day was, at the moment, sleeping soundly on his bed with stolen sheets, though he, of course, didn't feel as though they were stolen. He'd earned them, after all. He'd struck a deal with that merchant woman and had come out on top. She'd fretted afterwards about what would happen if she became pregnant – her husband would surely beat her when he discovered it wasn't his – but Vegeta knew she wouldn't. He'd had an orgasm but he hadn't allowed himself to ejaculate. He didn't tell her this, though. Why let her know that he'd been, sort of, looking out for her future and well-being? He'd just shrugged and told her she could always abort it. She'd given him a shocked look – abortions were punishable by death, though that hadn't stopped her before.

A loud, grinding sound and a shudder that raced through the ship jarred Vegeta from his sleep. He looked around blankly, still emerging from his dreams, before he realized that something was wrong. Something was missing. It was the sound of the engine.

As soon as he realized this he threw off his covers and hurried out of bed, landing with a thud on the floor because his feet were tangled up in his sheets. He kicked himself free and launched himself towards the cockpit without even bothering to stand. Instead he did a low, speedy fly through the ship, his chest almost skimming the floor.

The red Emergency button was flashing its ominous red light at him, and from the training area above Vegeta could hear the computerized voice saying, "Emergency, engine failure," over and over again.

"Goddamn this shit!" he bellowed, pressing buttons furiously. He knew, though, that punching buttons wouldn't help him. He needed to fix the engine itself.

He gazed out the cockpit window at the stars and saw that the gravity room was slowing down. It wouldn't be long before it began to float aimlessly through space, forcing Vegeta to rely on the mercy of fate and hope he didn't get stuck in a random orbit.

He raced towards the engine room and saw the engine smoking. It had completely died. He ripped the front off the engine with no regards to screws and coughed as a burst of hot smoke erupted in his face. When it cleared he saw that oil was leaking all over the mechanisms, and realized that there was more to fixing the engine than just replacing it.

Vegeta felt the ship sway for a moment, before he realized that it had stopped moving forward. The engine gave a finally heave that shook the ship and sent it into slow, nauseating spirals. Vegeta was, in a word, fucked.

Oh, how he wished now that he hadn't blown up the communications systems.

* * *

What luck for Narumi that Takeshi had gotten very, very drunk at Bulma Briefs' Christmas Eve Buffet – from the eggnog, no doubt, that she'd known was spiked after her very first sip. She'd gone with Giichi, not expecting that her brother would attend such a frivolous event. She'd seen him from across the room and felt her blood run cold, despite the warm knitted sweater that she wore and Giichi's warm body right beside hers. It hadn't taken her long, however, to realize that he was tanked, and she began to lighten up.

Giichi was glad for this, who'd assumed she was nervous in the company of his co-workers, given their relationship.

She introduced herself as Kodou Narumi, her mother's maiden name, which earned her confused glances from Giichi. She explained to him after, in private, that she wasn't close with her brother and didn't want anyone to make connections between Fujihara Takeshi and Fujihara Narumi, lest Takeshi find out that she'd attended the party and attempt to contact her.

"Is your brother here?" Giichi asked, eyeing the drunken Takeshi dance rhythmically on one of the tables – rhythmically for a drunk, that is.

"Oh, no," Narumi said. "He would never come to something like this. He's so uptight."

"That guy could take a leaf from your brother's book," he said, motioning towards Takeshi, who now had his shirt off.

Narumi made no comment.

After a few hours she excused herself from Giichi, saying she was going to the bathroom. All night she'd kept her eyes peeled for any sign of Vegeta, though Giichi had told her he'd gone back home. It was possible he'd been mistake. Gouhara Giichi, she learned, was not the brightest of people. When she didn't see Vegeta had the party she decided to snoop around the house, either to find him or find out what she could about him.

She headed out the hall, not appearing guilty at all. What was so wrong with going to the bathroom, after all? She took a right as though she knew for sure that right was the right way to go, and walked with her confident, long-strides. It was to the right that she saw the stairs.

She poked into rooms on her way down the hallway. Most of them appeared to be storage rooms or cluttered offices, but she spotted two well-kept guest bedrooms and one bathroom. She jumped in surprise when a housebot came zooming past her, carrying a tray of various cheeses. She watched it continue down towards the dance hall, where it turned sharply, almost toppling over, and went through the doorway. Then she went up the stairs.

The first door she opened was a large office with windows overlooking the compound and providing an incredible view of the downtown core. It was Bulma's office. She could tell from the black heels abandoned beside the desk and the picture of the heiress and Yamcha beside the computer. It was a full office with not a lot of space despite the fact that it was so big, but it didn't seem to be messy. Narumi moved on, closing the door behind her.

Next was a closet, and beside that another washroom. She came to another guest room, and then what she assumed was Dr. and Mrs. Briefs' room. She moved on to the door across the hall, finding another closet – this one a walk-in. A walk-in closet in the middle of the hall? Narumi wondered, but moved forward.

The next door she opened led her, she was sure, to Vegeta's room. It had been untouched since he'd left Earth, Bulma refusing to tidy it up and forbidding her mother to do so (under the pretense that Vegeta probably left it that way for a reason. Dumb Mrs. Briefs saw logic in this). She'd programmed the housebots to skip this room in their daily chores.

There was a towel abandoned on the floor, and a tattered martial arts gi nearby. There was a pair of running shoes, the sole separating from the rest, and the room smelled of sweat. It was sparsely decorated; Narumi assumed it was because he'd taken all his belongings back home with him.

"Are you looking for something?"

Narumi had been about to step in when a voice startled her. She turned around, looking very guilty now, and saw Dr. Briefs standing there in his white lab coat, Kitty on his shoulder, and his hands behind his back.

"Uh… the… um… err… bathroom."

"Oh! Goodness, there's one just off the dance hall downstairs," Dr. Briefs said. "I guess you wouldn't know, though, unless someone had told you."

For all his genius, Narumi thought the doctor rather simple.

"I'm sorry about wandering around your house," Narumi said innocently, cranking up the polite apologetic knob.

"It's not a problem. You don't want to go in there, though. That's Vegeta's room. He doesn't take kindly to strangers. However, you're welcome anywhere else."

Narumi made a face of sheer apology. "Oh, tell him I'm sorry! I didn't mean to snoop or anything, I was just looking for the washroom."

Dr. Briefs smiled and waved his hand. "Vegeta will never know. He's not even here right now."

"Not at the party, you mean?" Narumi asked.

"No, not at the party. Not at the Capsule Corp. either. Not even on Earth."

Narumi stared at him. This time she was genuinely shocked. As lightning-fast as her tongue was, it took her a moment to find words. "Not… on Earth?"

Dr. Briefs sensed he'd said too much. There was no need to tell this strange girl that Vegeta was an alien, formerly a murderer. There was no need to tell her that he'd taken the gravity room to train in space for preparation for the arrival of the androids, who would obliterate the entire population, eventually, if given the chance.

"He's working for JAXA," he explained.

The explanation sufficed for Narumi, and added to her infatuation with the stoic prince. If only she'd known he was a prince!

"How exciting!" she cried. "What's he doing out there?"

"Oh, this and that," Dr. Briefs said ambiguously. He decided it was time to change the subject. "Are you here with your husband?"

"My boyfriend, actually. Gouhara Giichi."

"The name sounds familiar. Can't place it though." He tapped his head with a fatherly smile. "Gets hard sometimes these days, you know."

Narumi nodded sympathetically, thinking that maybe it was time for him to retire if the old fool couldn't remember much anymore.

Dr. Briefs showed her to the bathroom, then headed off to bed. How he loathed his daughter's Christmas Eve Booze Buffet.

Something was being hidden from her. Narumi knew this. She could tell by the way Dr. Briefs had explained Vegeta's business with JAXA, or rather lack of explanation, that something was being kept from her. From her, she wondered, or from the world? No doubt the Capsule Corporation had enemies as well as connections. No doubt they had the technology to obtain information for the government if it was so required.

She cracked her knuckles. What a conspiracy. She would get to the bottom of it and get Vegeta in bed, too.


	11. TEN prince's worth

A/N: I recently purchased the first season of DBZ (although I wasn't aware that they were divided by "seasons", especially since this first season has 30-someodd episodes and contains the entire Vegeta saga) and as a result I have a newfound interest in the anime. Moreover I started my reading week Friday and find myself with some time to actually work on this fic, which has been neglected for far too long.

I began this chapter several months ago but lost interest and became really busy with school. Since deciding to work on this fic again, I've added to it and cleaned it up (at least somewhat I hope). Originally this was part of a longer chapter but I've decided to split it into two shorter chapters to reduce the number of breaks and scene changes. Plus I think this chapter's ending is appropriate.

I'd like to take the opportunity now to apologize for the unforgiveable delay. All I can say is I hope it never carries on so long again, although I can't make any guarantees with school pressure as it is. I also want to thank all those who read my story before during its hiatus and everyone who now chooses to continue reading. You guys are great :)

* * *

ten. **prince's worth.**

"Bulma? Bulma, wake up. Bulma, it's time to get up."

Bulma grunted and rolled over, away from the sound.

"Bulma, you need to get up now."

"Later," she mumbled.

"No, now. You need to get up _now_."

She rolled back over and pulled her head out from underneath her arm to see her father standing beside her bed. He looked concerned.

"What happened?" she grunted, stifling a yawn.

"Something's very wrong," he said.

She was in the lab within ten minutes and Dr. Briefs stood by the gravity room's communication system, pushing a button every few moments or so, but in general just watching it thoughtfully.

"What's up?" Bulma asked as she approached her father.

"Vegeta's in trouble."

"How can you tell? I thought he blew up the communications."

"Yes, he did, but all that means is that we can't contact him or vice versa. That doesn't mean I can't still keep tabs on the ship itself – and Houston, we have a problem."

"What?"

"Engine failure."

"That's not hard to fix," Bulma said.

"I suspect the cooling system failed and the engine became extremely overheated. It's not a matter of fixing the oil, although that may also be necessary, or turning it over again. He would have to fix the cooling system and then probably need to replace the entire engine," Dr. Briefs explained.

"This is his own fault!" Bulma said angrily. "If he hadn't been so stubborn and not rushed out he could have taken the newer gravity room I was working on."

"Does that mean you don't want to help?"

"Yes."

Dr. Briefs shook his head. "Not everyone deserves help," he said, "but when people refuse to help others it is more a measure of their character than that of those who are in need. And I know you are a better person than to just let him float around in space for eternity."

Bulma's eyebrows lowered in agitation. "I'm fairly certain he can take care of himself."

"Why, did you include a how-to manual so he can fix the cooling system? And is there a spare engine on board?"

"Vegeta's smarter than you may think."

"One is only as smart as the tools that are available."

"Well what the hell are we supposed to do from here anyway?" Bulma demanded.

Dr. Briefs smiled, sensing that she was going to help despite all her protests. "Just because the engine's failed doesn't mean the computer has. I want to try to hack into the navigational computer and see if we can't set him on a specific course. There's no guarantee he'll get there with no engine, but I'm hoping he hasn't gotten trapped in an orbit and will float along in the direction we set for him."

"You want to try to bring him back to Earth?"

"No, I suspect he's too far away for that. It'll be too risky. Our solar system has far too many moons and planets that can trap him in their orbit. I want to try to bring him to the nearest merchant planet so he can purchase the equipment he needs to repair his ship."

Bulma sighed heavily. "Why do you need me to help? Can't you do this on your own?"

"Yes, but that'll take much longer and time is the one thing Vegeta doesn't have a lot of right now. I'm going to try to locate his co-ordinates and then the co-ordinates of the closest trading planet. In the meantime I want you to work on hacking his navigations."

"How long has his engine been out?" Bulma asked.

Dr. Briefs frowned. "I'm not sure. I haven't been in here to check up on him in a few days. If I had to take a guess I'd go for either the twenty-fourth or twenty-fifth. Though it could have even been as early as the twenty-third."

"At the most, then, he's had no engine power for five days. And at the least three days."

"Correct. Even a few hours is enough for the gravity room to be pulled into an orbit, so I suggest we work as quickly as possible."

"What if he blocks my hack?" Bulma asked.

Dr. Briefs eyed her skeptically. "If you were on a ship with no working engine in the middle of space would you be concerned with watching your navigation system for a hack? Or would you be more concerned with trying to find out the source of the engine damage to fix it? I wouldn't worry about him blocking your hack – and besides, I designed this system. I know more about it than he does and together we'll have no problem getting into it."

Dr. Briefs found Vegeta's co-ordinates in no time, and located an appropriate planet for Vegeta to land on within the hour.

"This planet is approximately two days from Vegeta, but this time frame takes into account a working engine. It could take him up to several months to reach these co-ordinates if he runs into obstacles," Dr. Briefs said.

"Any luck on the hacking?"

Bulma snarled in frustration. "He's put a lock on them. At first I was trying to guess the password but after a few wrong tries it locked me out. So now I'm trying to bypass the password altogether which is a lot harder."

Dr. Briefs nodded knowingly as he watched the stream of data on the computer screen. "The password program is in the third layer of code," he explained. "It looks like you're on the second. If you can get into the third you may be able to break the program. See if you can get into the program and delete the passwording option."

"_You_ built this!" Bulma cried. "Why can't _you_ do it?"

"Why can't you? You're smart enough. And you care about Vegeta's welfare more than I do, which grants you more incentive to work harder."

Bulma's fingers stopped moving across the keys as she turned to glare at her father.

"'Vegeta's _welfare_'? I couldn't care _less_ about Vegeta's welfare! Maybe it's a good thing he's stuck out in space. Maybe he'll die out there!"

"Do you really want that?" Dr. Briefs asked her. "Would you want that resting on your conscience knowing you could have done something to prevent it?"

"What is it with you and trying to guilt me into helping him?" she demanded. "Why is he worth so much to you?"

Dr. Briefs looked at her evenly. "He's not," he said. "He murdered millions of innocent people, and there is no way I would ever condone that. He is worth very little to me, in fact. But Earth is worth a great deal, as are the people who live here. And if he is willing to put an end to the massacre the androids will bring, then I will do everything in my power to ensure he stays alive and well long enough to aid us. Is Earth not worth that much to you?"

Bulma didn't reply as she mulled this over. Vegeta didn't deserve her help – he had attacked her, after all. But the people of Earth deserved his help, and if the only way they could receive that was if she helped Vegeta first, then she supposed she would. It is what Goku would do, she reasoned; wordlessly she returned to the computer screen.

* * *

Vegeta sat crumpled on the floor beside the disassembled engine, contemplating death. Death was a topic with which he was thoroughly acquainted, but he had always imagined his own demise to be the result of the bloodiest of battles, not dehydration. And he certainly never expected to die alone on the hard tile floor of the human-made gravity room. 

He turned a piece of the engine over in his oil-stained hands before letting it drop to the floor with a metallic clang. He felt both ridiculous and infuriated. He had accepted that fact that he could not repair the engine and felt completely useless. When had the Saiya-jin prince been stripped of so much dignity that he now sat cross-legged on the floor unable to do anything to save himself? He was completely at the mercy of the humans – Dr. Briefs and Bulma in particular – and their shitty piece of machinery had malfunctioned.

Perhaps they had meant to murder him silently in space, he mused. Perhaps that had been the plan all along, to tamper with the equipment so that it worked well enough to launch him into the galaxy, and then unexpectedly break down to such an extent that it was unfixable.

Perhaps it was that Yamcha. It was no secret that Yamcha despised Vegeta. Vegeta even suspected Yamcha was somewhat jealous of him, though for what the prince could not fathom. It wasn't because of Vegeta's strength – Kakarrot was more powerful than him, yet Yamcha got along with him just fine. It had to be something else, something belonging to Vegeta alone.

He could sense the jealousy in Yamcha's obnoxious glares. He could feel it in the way Yamcha arrogantly moved away from him when they crossed paths at the Capsule Corporation. He could taste it in the way Yamcha spoke to him, on the rare occasions that he did speak to him. He could discern it in the way Yamcha talked of his accomplishments within earshot of Vegeta. It hung thick in the air whenever the two crossed paths.

Vegeta couldn't blame Yamcha for hating him. Vegeta had inadvertently sent Yamcha to Otherworld, after all. He had similarly murdered several of his friends and injured others. He had scared his precious girlfriend shitless on Namek in his madcap plan to gather the Dragonballs. And despite the fact that Vegeta had ultimately aided the Z Fighters in the battle against Frieza and had offered to help them destroy the androids, he could reasonably understand that Yamcha disliked him. Vegeta suspected he would dislike himself were he in that position.

But for the human to be jealous of him – that was something he couldn't quite wrap his head around. Unless he was mistaken and completely off the mark, which he guessed was possible though unlikely. He believed his intuition to be fairly well developed; it didn't often let him down.

"Now on course to Madan-sei. Destination: Madan-sei."

The voice of the navigational computer bounced towards him from the cockpit and his head whipped around in surprise.

Who had set his course? And why had they set his co-ordinates for Madan-sei? And, most importantly, how had they hacked his password? Were they also responsible for the destruction of his engine? Was it sabotage?

He was in the cockpit in a matter of seconds, running a check on his new destination. He learned it was a trading planet, and that it was approximately two days away. But what a waste of time it had been for the hacker to hack _his_ system. Without any engine power it would take ages to reach Madan-sei, if he was lucky enough to be on a clear course and reach it at all.

"Locked onto co-ordinates of Madan-sei. Destination: Madan-sei."

Was it a trap? Vegeta thought wildly. Was he at that very moment being lured into someone's grasp, someone who awaited him on Madan-sei? But why would this be, and what role would he play?

The computer flashed and streams of data began pouring across the screen. His navigational program opened of its own accord but where the co-ordinate input boxes had once sat there was now a message:

_Heard you were having engine trouble. Stick to these co-ordinates and I'm sure you can locate the tools and help you need. Next time don't run off without bringing necessary equipment of your own._

_-B.B._

_P.S. There's a spacesuit in the closet at the back of the cockpit. The boots are magnetized so you can walk on the outside of the G.R. A Ki blast will push your ship in the right direction and help you reach Madan-sei a lot sooner. It's been known to work._

By the end of the week Vegeta had a new engine and some extra cash and food, the latter having been earned through various forms of violence and illegal activity.

The mechanic had surveyed his work and wiped the grease from his hands. "It should be good," he grunted. "You're one lucky sonova bitch that you even made it here with your engine as fucked up as it was. How'd you manage to bump into this shithole anyway?"

"I was sent the co-ordinates and told what to do to get it here."

The mechanic whistled between his teeth. "You've got some great friends. Some smart, great friends. You're one lucky bastard." He clapped Vegeta on the back and exited the ship before Vegeta could protest against his "friends."


	12. ELEVEN proposal

Disclaimer: Blah blah blah.. don't own _The Sound of Music_.. what'd you think?

A/N: I'd say that I'm really proud of myself for posting this so quickly, especially given the huge delay between chapters 9 and 10, except this was originally part of chapter 10 and was therefore already mostly written. Obviously this means there wasn't much further effort or time required to finish it, which is why it's up so soon after the last chapter (I was debating waiting a little longer to post this, except I'm not sure how long it will be until the next chapter is up and wanted to get this one up in case there's another six month wait between chapters).

I hope this chapter flows okay, given that it wasn't supposed to stand alone initially. I added the beginning paragraphs to this chapter to make it more independent from chapter 10, and I hope they achieve this, since originally it started as more of a continuation of the last paragaph in chap. 10. I also added the closing paragraphs to better sum up this chap rather than the events in the last two chapters, otherwise everything else was originally in "Prince's Worth". I didn't notice anything that really didn't mesh with the rest of the chapter but if anything stands out to anyone let me know and I'll work on fixing it up.

* * *

eleven. **proposal.**

Bulma never bothered to tell Yamcha about what disaster had befallen Vegeta in space, nor how she and her father had worked to save him. She suspected he would take it the wrong way and never see her father's reasoning or logic. So she kept it to herself and secretly hoped he had reached Madan-sei.

It had been nearly three weeks since the incident and she guessed that if Vegeta had used his Ki to propel the gravity room it shouldn't have taken him more than five days, provided he didn't run into any trouble. Though, of course, no asteroid or comet, and not many aliens either, would be able to withstand the full force of Vegeta's blasts.

Dr. Briefs had suggested they try to contact Vegeta to see if he had reached his destination safely, but Bulma had talked him out of it.

"He won't appreciate it," she'd said, "he'll only get annoyed that we're bothering him. Isn't that why he destroyed communications in the first place?"

"I just want to ensure he made it so that if he didn't we can try something else."

"I'm pretty sure he did, and frankly, what else can we do? Look… if you want to contact him, be my guest, but I'm not going to. He's a Saiya-jin after all, not a child."

Dr. Briefs had relented, but not before suggesting Bulma begin work on a new and improved gravity room. He suspected Vegeta would return to Earth before too much longer, and he didn't trust the old model anymore.

Despite her unwillingness to check up on the price, she nevertheless hoped that Madan-sei had been able to provide what Vegeta needed to repair his engine. She also hoped he would return soon before his ship completely fell apart. And she realized with a sinking feeling in her stomach that she was thinking about him again, worrying about his wellbeing, and hoping he'd come home soon.

Tonight, though, her mind wasn't on Vegeta. Yamcha was coming to visit and it had been a while since she'd seen him last, both having been consumed with post-Christmas work. She was looking forward to a relaxing night with one of her closest friends in front of the tube. Not only that, but her favourite movie was coming on pay-per-view.

Yamcha arrived shortly after dinner, looking tense and anxious.

"What's wrong?" Bulma inquired, but he dismissed her concern, saying he was tired. He did look tired, Bulma had to admit, and had no choice but to accept his explanation.

Yamcha sat uncomfortably on the couch. It wasn't that the couch was uncomfortable, for the leather was plush and expensive, nor was it the company that put him ill at-ease. It was the thought of what he would have to do later; it made him antsy and tense, and he kept placing his hand briefly over the pocket of his jeans. The problem wasn't that he didn't want to do it, because it did. He desperately did. But he was understandably nervous and kept replaying the would-be scene in his mind as he tried to focus on the movie. He doubted he would be able to even make it to the end of the film as anticipation bubbled in his chest. He felt jumpy and energetic and eager, but he was still. His arm remained loosely draped around Bulma's shoulders.

By nine-thirty she looked bored, and Yamcha doubted it was because of the movie. It was her favourite. She'd prattled on about it all evening.

"_The Sound of Music_?" Yamcha had asked, withholding a groan.

"My _favourite_!" she'd gushed. "It's so romantic! Maria has already devoted her life to something else but she charms the rebellious children and their arrogant father and finds herself in love with him! Oh! And then poor Liesl is absolutely rejected by Rolfe because he's a stupid kid who thinks the Nazis will give him what he wants."

"Way to ruin the plotline," Yamcha had said blandly, but Bulma either hadn't heard him or hadn't cared and promptly launched into the details of her favourite parts.

So now she was bored, and Yamcha deducted that it had to be because of him. True he had been rather quiet that night, rather withdrawn and focused on his own thoughts. Okay, he conceded, he'd been _boring_. But that was only because his mind had kept wandering to his plans for later that night.

Well, why not now? Although it was smack-dab in the middle of her favourite movie she didn't appear that interested in it. Besides, she would always be able to associate _The Sound of Music_ with Yamcha afterwards and the movie would have sentimental value. Yamcha smiled to himself, his hand falling on his pocket.

He shifted on the couch so that he was sideways, facing Bulma. She turned away from the TV to frown at him in confusion. "What is it?" she asked.

He smiled at her and leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead. Then he stood, jammed his hand in his pocket and pulled out a small sky-blue box. He turned his gaze from Bulma to the box and completely missed her body go rigid as her eyes fell on the box. He dropped slowly to one knee on the floor beside her and looked back up. He grinned nervously.

"I know that I probably could have done this more romantically," he said, "but I didn't want it to be some glamorous, public affair, and where is more private than your own home? But anyway…" He took a deep breath and cracked open the blue box. "Bulma Briefs, will you marry me?"

Inside the box, embedded in the protective cloth with _Tiffany & Co._ written on the inside of the lid, was a ring: White gold with three square-cut diamonds, the largest one in the middle with the two smaller ones on each side. Bulma stared at it, still sitting stiffly on the sofa. She swallowed hard and exhaled deeply several times in a row. Yamcha took her silence for speechlessness.

"Try it on," he said softly, plucking it out of the box.

He reached for Bulma's left hand and she let him pull it towards him. She gazed at the ring, completely entranced. He wanted to marry her? He had finally decided to commit wholly to her and spend the rest of his life with her? Her heart felt fit to burst.

Except, she realized, it didn't. She didn't feel overwhelmingly happy. She didn't feel the excitement she'd always expected to feel when she was proposed to. Instead she felt nauseous and panicked, and she could feel a sweat breaking out across her forehead and the back of her neck. She didn't need previous experience to know that this wasn't what she was supposed to feel.

And she didn't need anyone to tell her that she shouldn't be thinking about whether or not Vegeta reached Madan-sei at that particular moment.

She wrenched herself away from him with such force that she almost sent herself toppling off the couch. Yamcha blinked up at her, thoroughly confused. She stood and backed away, stumbling into the arm of the sofa, before plopping herself down in the matching recliner a short distance away. Yamcha pulled himself to his feet and stared at her. She had a pained expression on her face.

"Don't you like it?" Yamcha asked stupidly, his voice heavy with hurt.

Bulma looked at him for a few moments, then at the ring in his hand, then at the box in his other hand. Her shoulders began to shake and it wasn't long after that the laughter exploded forth. As her chuckle became a laugh which became hysterics Yamcha looked more and more confused. He wasn't sure if he should be relieved by her laughter or offended. He stood awkwardly between the couch and the coffee table as he waited for Bulma's mirth to subside.

It did, finally, and she looked apologetically at Yamcha. "It isn't the ring," she said.

He looked hopeless. "Then… what? You're not ready?"

Bulma sighed, curling herself up in the chair. "Yamcha… Listen. It means a lot to me that you would propose to me and that you think you care enough for me to want to spend the rest of your life with me. It really does. I didn't know you felt so strongly, considering all the problems we had. But I… can't. I can't marry you."

"You can't?" he echoed. When she shook her head he asked, "Why?"

She paused, then opened her mouth to speak, and then hesitated. Finally she said, "I just don't… I'm not… I don't think…" She closed her mouth again, gathering her wits and thoughts. Then she started again:

"I realized that you're not the one that I want to spend the rest of _my_ life with." She paused here to look Yamcha in the eye and assess his reaction. His expression didn't change, nor did he speak, so she plowed onwards. "I know you're going to say that I should have let you know and not led you on, but I didn't know how to tell you. And we weren't having any problems right now, so I figured I would just leave it alone. And… I don't know. It's not that I don't want you to be part of my future, because I do. I just… don't… want to be with you. I don't think I love you anymore. I mean, I do love you. You're an amazing friend and a great person, and I love you more than you can possibly know right now. But I'm not _in_ love with you. This was a good thing, just not _the_ thing. And I think that you know it too, deep down. I think that you only want to marry me because it seems like the next logical step in our relationship. But our relationship had reached a stand-still and it's not going to go any farther—"

She stopped suddenly as she realized she was rambling. Yamcha's expression remained etched onto his face. She sighed, dropping her face into her hands.

Her voice was muffled when she spoke next. "I feel really guilty. I feel like I've led you on. I guess I did, but I didn't mean to. I wish I'd known you felt this way. I wish you had let me know."

Yamcha's expression changed rapidly now, making up for the time it had spent frozen in place. It went through disbelief, heartbreak, confusion, and rage in quick succession, before finally coming to rest in some contorted mixture of all four.

"You mean you won't marry me?" he asked dully, picking through his words slowly as though he were speaking a new language of which he had limited knowledge.

"I can't marry you," Bulma said, lifting her face from her hands. "That doesn't mean I don't care for you, though. I do, Yamcha, I _do_. I've known you too long and been through too much with you to simply give you up point-blank. You helped me to grow up, but now I need someone who loves me for who I've grown to be, not someone who thinks he loves me for the little girl I used to be. We're both very different people from who we were when we first met but we're living under the delusion that we're exactly the same. I think that's why you're constantly having affairs. You're looking for something that you used to find in me but because we've both changed, I can no longer give it to you. We're through that point in our lives when we do the most changing and now we both need to find someone who can be fulfilled by what we've changed into. It's hard to explain. Do you understand?"

"No."

"You will. Right now you're just upset and pissed off."

"Do you love someone else?" he asked. He didn't name any names, but Bulma knew who he was implying.

Bulma shook her head. "I don't love anybody."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_, Yamcha, I'm sure."

"So… you won't marry me?"

And so the conversation went around again until Yamcha finally lapsed into silence. He was sure he should feel something: anger, misery, confusion, _anything_, but he didn't. He couldn't.

Bulma wouldn't look at him afterwards, opting instead for either the far wall or her hands, and finally he got up and left silently. He left the box and ring behind on the table. He was shaking by the time he walked through his own front door. Puar had already gone to bed and the house was dark and still and lonely.

He wasn't sure if nausea counted as a feeling.

Bulma, meanwhile, stayed up most of the night in the living room, feeling her heart break bit by bit as she thought of everything she had just thrown away. Tears stung her eyes and salted her cheeks, and she wondered repeatedly if she had done the right thing. If so, why was she so aggrieved? If she didn't love Yamcha then why was her heart breaking?

She was still awake when the sun lit up the far wall and illuminated the drops on her face. Her father came down the stairs already in his lab coat and took only one brief look at her before smiling sympathetically.

"I feel so broken," Bulma croaked to him.

"It's been known to happen. Heartbreak has that affect on people."

"Have I done the wrong thing?"

"That's for you to decide," her father said gently.

"But what do you think?"

"Ahh," he sighed. "I don't want to influence your feelings one way or the other, so I think it best to not saying anything for the time being. Perhaps when you've made your own decision I'll let you know my sentiments."

"Did you like Yamcha?" she asked after a moment.

"Not particularly. He hurt you a lot. Did you like him?"

"Well I went out with him for most of my adult life, didn't I?" she pointed out.

"That doesn't mean anything. I've been maintaining this business for most of my adult life, but I hate the entire goddamn corporation."

This statement startled Bulma so much that she forgot for a moment that she was upset. "You do?"

"Of course I do! I devoted so much time into it and it took me away from my family. There are so many things I would have liked to do if I'd only had the time to do so. I became so wrapped up in making a life for myself and my family that I forgot to live life. Never forget to live life, Bulma. You only have one, after all. That's my one regret.

"Did you like Yamcha?"

Her mind still swirling with her father's confession, she tried to think seriously about his question, which she saw that he intended to be taken seriously.

"I think… I think I did at first. I think I still do, but not in the same way. Well, I know it's not in the same way. He hurt me a lot, and I tried to forgive him but I don't think I ever managed to completely."

"What is your limit of forgiveness?" Dr. Briefs asked.

"What?"

"How far can someone go before you won't forgive them?"

"I don't know. I've never thought about it before."

"Or been put in that position before."

"I guess not."

"I'm going to make an assumption here that may or may not be true for you, but is generally true for the majority of all humans," he said scientifically, and Bulma braced herself for a statistic.

Instead he said, "The measure of your capabilities to forgive depends entirely on who it is who requires forgiveness. I know that I love your mother with all my being because I don't believe there is anything she could ever do that I wouldn't be able to forgive her for in the end. Did you know she was unfaithful to me once? This was before we were married. But I forgave her because I knew there was nobody else I could love as much as I loved her."

"So you're saying if I truly loved Yamcha I would have been able to completely overlook the fact that he cheated on me?"

"Essentially, yes. Not at first. Everything takes time."

"Maybe all I needed was more time, then," Bulma said. She was desperate now, trying to cling to anything that still made sense.

"Maybe," Dr. Briefs acknowledged. "But what do you think? If you waited your entire lifetime do you think you'd forgive him then?"

Bulma just shrugged as her emotions came flooding back and clouded her judgment and ability to think. Sensing this, her father patted her shoulder consolingly and headed off to the lab, as Bulma recently discovered, that he so loathed.

A few minutes later her mother entered the room and offered the sympathetic shoulder Bulma needed, devoid of all logic and reasoning.

Yamcha was, meanwhile, taking out his frustration on poor Krillin in a heated sparring match.


	13. TWELVE hopes, dreams, and magazines

twelve. **hopes, dreams, and magazines.**

The evening found the Son family seated around their dining room table. Piccolo stood off to one side in the doorway, stoic as always, his arms folded. He didn't have any sympathy for the weepy warrior who sat amongst the Sons as they offered him comfort. He had always thought, from what he had heard anyway, that he didn't act the way a boyfriend was supposed to. He had never been aware that cheating was acceptable, yet it seemed that that was exactly what Yamcha did at every turn. Even Piccolo, who had no experience in relationships whatsoever, and had no desire to enter into one, knew that Bulma Briefs deserved better. He also knew something that no one else, except for Goku, did. This was why when Yamcha turned up at the Sons' house earlier that afternoon and poured out his heartbreak Piccolo had not been surprised.

Gohan didn't completely understand what was going on. He was intelligent enough, of course, and he understood that Yamcha had proposed to Bulma only to be not only declined but rejected. He understood that Yamcha was upset. But he couldn't relate. He had never experienced heartbreak before. He could only liken it to when his father was killed by Radditz, but even that was not quite the same because Gohan knew the Dragonballs would bring Goku back. He couldn't comprehend the absolute grief Yamcha was experiencing, because Yamcha understood that he had lost his final opportunity.

While Chichi had a better grasp on the emotional aspect of the situation, she couldn't entirely understand it either. Why hadn't Yamcha been able to see this consequence? Every action has a consequence, and she knew that if Yamcha continued to behave the way he did and be unfaithful, this would happen. She could comprehend his despair but couldn't sympathize with him. He had brought this upon himself and had been given fair warning. More than fair, in her opinion. Yet he had never learned. And, to top it off, he admitted to suspecting that Bulma was having an affair? Chichi almost couldn't believe it.

As always Goku connected with his friend's anguish. He was a sensitive person and felt genuinely sad for Yamcha. Almost as long as he had known them, Bulma and Yamcha had been a pair. Faced with this split now, Goku himself felt almost lost. The couple was a constant, not a variable, and suddenly it felt as though the whole formula of the world had been changed. Not that he hadn't been expecting it, but he hadn't anticipated it would feel so wrong.

It was now that Yamcha decided to take his leave. He rose from the table and thanked everyone – including Piccolo – for their support and lending an ear.

"Cheer up," Goku said. "It will all get better."

"Try to keep yourself occupied," Chichi suggested. "If you're busy you won't think about it."

"Concentrate on training," Goku said. "You'll be too busy to think about Bulma and you'll be working towards saving the Earth."

"Goodbye, Mr. Yamcha," Gohan said.

Piccolo nodded his leave from the kitchen doorway.

When Chichi sat back down she sighed heavily. "Well, that's that. I was wondering when this would finally happen."

"Why?" Gohan asked.

Chichi shrugged. "I think that this has been happening for a long time," she said. She turned to Goku. "Don't you?"

"I don't really know."

"Of course not," said Chichi bitterly. "You're hardly ever home."

An awkward silence descended upon the house and, sensing one of Chichi's rampages, Piccolo motioned for Gohan to follow him into the safety of the forest.

"Oh, come on Chi," Goku said as Gohan and Piccolo headed outside. "You know I'm sorry."

"Yes, but saving the world always comes first. Why do you always have to be such a hero?"

Goku slumped forward onto the table and rested his head in his folded arms. "Is there someone else who will do it?"

Chichi's eyes dropped to the table and she picked at a loosening sliver. "I just… I miss you so much when you're gone. And I never even know when you're going to be back to have that to look forward to."

"I'm sorry."

"No," she said after a moment. "No, don't be sorry. I guess this is partially my fault. I knew how you are before I married you, but I wanted to be with you anyway. I guess I kinda hoped I could turn you into more of a homebody, but there's no changing you, Son Goku." She looked up and smiled at him wearily. "I think I love you even more because of that, even though it's hard."

Goku grinned at her. "Plus Gohan's home," he said.

Her smile grew slightly. "He's becoming more like you everyday. Look at him with Piccolo – that's not the same boy from three years ago."

Goku turned towards the window Chichi had motioned towards and watching Gohan and Piccolo spar for a few moments before he said, "I hope Vegeta returns soon."

Chichi's mood soured immediately. "_What_?"

"I hope Vegeta returns soon. To Earth."

"Why?"

"Well… why not? I wouldn't mind training with him a bit. He must be a lot stronger after training in space for so long. He would make a great sparring partner."

Chichi threw her hands in the air. "How can you like that man? How can you want to be friends with him? _He came here to kill you_! Are you incapable of understanding that? Don't you get what that means? He's a _murderer_! If he had the opportunity he would kill you in a second!"

Goku frowned. "No, I don't think he would."

"Why not!? Because he helped you on Namek? That was only because he hated Frieza more than he hated you! Frieza was a bigger threat to him than you are. He couldn't take on Frieza by himself, but he can definitely take on you. Especially now that he's been training so much, or so everyone is saying. Why do you think he agreed to help fight the Androids? To protect Earth?" She snorted. "Not likely! He came here to destroy it, or did you forget about that tiny little detail? Why would he now be interested in its protection? I'm telling you, it's not because he wants to help us. It's because he's waiting for his opportunity to get _you_!"

Goku paused, still frowning in thought. Then he said, "No. I think you're wrong."

"What? Why?"

"Well… after Namek… remember when you all thought I was dead? Vegeta was here. Remember, Bulma offered him a place to stay at the Capsule Corp. but he left in Dr. Briefs' ship. Remember? I wasn't here and he could have easily destroyed the entire planet then. Nobody would have been able to stop him. But he didn't."

"He was probably waiting until he could get you into the mix."

"No," Goku said again. "If he destroyed Earth that would only bring me back here sooner. Then he would have had the advantage because he would be waiting for me and I would still be trying to figure out what had happened. No, I don't think he's planning on killing anyone. Except the Androids."

"You're far too trusting," Chichi snapped.

"I still hope he comes back soon."

"I feel horrible that Bulma has to deal with him as a houseguest. What in God's name possessed her to offer him a place to stay anyway?" she asked.

"I think Bulma and Vegeta get along a lot better than you think, Chi."

"What makes you say that? I can't imagine you spend a lot of time there. You don't even spend a lot of time _here_."

"I don't know. I just have a feeling."

"I think you're crazy. I'm going to bed. You can keep hoping Vegeta comes back soon. I'll keep hoping he doesn't."

As his wife exited the room, Goku's gaze shifted back to Gohan and Piccolo. They had improved so much since the news of the Androids first reached them, and yet Goku knew that they still had so far to go. He knew that they were going to need more than three years' worth of training to achieve the strength they required. It made him sad to think that all this effort and time may ultimately be in vain, that it may not be enough. Yet if he told anyone that they would only insist on working harder. He knew he was the same.

He watched as Gohan was sent tumbling head-first into the snow. His son was so strong now; he was such a tough little warrior. He knew that Gohan's full potential had only been barely uncovered. He also had a feeling that as much as Chichi openly disapproved of Gohan's training, Gohan's strength and power would prove far more vital to the Earth's safety than anyone could possibly imagine.

He was eternally grateful to Piccolo for recognizing the boy's abilities and taking it upon himself to train him. Goku had always wanted to, but Chichi had ruled against this with an iron fist. Piccolo, however, was unbending to Chichi's demands – he had no need to keep her happy. But he also recognized the change Gohan had brought about in Piccolo. Piccolo was no longer the same cold-hearted fighter Goku had first met. He was softer, more peaceful, and more fatherly. He was tough – no doubt about it. He was a strict teacher and he demanded perfection. But he wasn't hell-bent on killing Goku. He also wasn't working strictly for his own gain based on his own personal motives.

This was what Chichi didn't seem to remember. She had either forgotten or chosen to ignore the fact that Piccolo was once as equally murderous as Vegeta. Piccolo, too, had once been Goku's enemy. But now Piccolo was living in the same house. He was training in their yard. And in Goku's prolonged absence, he had provided for Gohan.

Vegeta, Goku saw, was really not all that different. In fact, he and Piccolo were very much alike. Perhaps the only difference in attitudes, as far as Goku's generalizations went, was within their individual sense of _home_. Piccolo had grown-up on Earth and was willing to defend the planet because it was his home. But even Goku had to admit he was unsure as to Vegeta's motives to stay. Vegeta had no connection to Earth – emotional, physical or otherwise – yet he had agreed to be a defender. He suspected it initially had something to do with the gravity room and wouldn't argue against the idea that Vegeta was only interested in using it to become stronger than Goku with the intention of defeating him. He also suspected that now it had very little to do with the gravity room and defeating Goku, and imagined that Vegeta was also trying to determine why he continued to stick around.

Nevertheless, Goku found himself wondering about Vegeta often, especially now that Bulma was a single woman. He hoped desperately that Vegeta returned to Earth soon.

* * *

Although she was exhausted, Bulma found it difficult to sleep in the following days. Although leaving Yamcha was her doing, it upset her nonetheless, and she tossed and turned at night and felt more alone than ever. Her bed had never felt bigger.

At long last she did find sleep, but even then she was plagued with upsetting dreams.

In one she was standing with Yamcha in a park, chatting with him about something. When she turned around he was gone, and although she searched all over for him he was nowhere to be found.

In her next dream she was walking hand in hand with Yamcha when he suddenly pulled away from her, looking sullen. She reached out for him but he only walked farther and farther ahead. She began to run but he disappeared and she found herself alone.

She woke up with a deep feeling of panic in her chest, and it was a long time before she fell asleep again.

Her third dream was most vivid. She was standing with the Z Fighters, Vegeta, and the boy from the future. They were waiting for Goku to return to Earth; the boy predicted he would be back within a few hours. Although she appeared relaxed enough and sipped calmly on her Coke, her mind was in turmoil.

How was it that this strange boy reached the level of a Super Saiyan? He must obviously be a Saiyan, but his colourings were wrong. Where all the Saiyans she knew were dark, he was equally as fair. There was also something strange about his arrival. How did he know when and where Frieza would return? And how was he so certain that Goku would be there in a couple of hours? It gave her the chills.

The boy looked up suddenly and his eyes met hers. She felt an instantaneous connection with him that she had never experienced before, and it startled her. She felt as though she had known him once, like he was a childhood friend who had moved away and since been forgotten. She was unsure if he felt the same, but he did look undoubtedly awkward and averted his gaze immediately.

The scene melted into her living room. She was sitting on her couch watching TV when Yamcha entered the room. He was making his way towards her when he was intercepted by a smaller figure. His back was turned to Bulma and she couldn't make out who he was, but it was obvious that Yamcha knew him from the way they began to yell.

He turned around suddenly and smirked at Bulma. How could she not have known it was Vegeta? He became clearer even before he started to walk towards her, and his eyes pierced menacingly into hers.

Behind him Yamcha's shouts became comprehensible. "You leave her alone! Don't you touch her!"

Vegeta either didn't hear or chose to ignore him because he only continued to walk closer. But despite Yamcha's apparent panic and the expression on Vegeta's face, Bulma didn't feel afraid.

There was a sudden explosion at the side of the house, and she, Vegeta, and Yamcha all looked up in unison to see two shadowy individuals standing in the smoke left by their attack. It was clear that these visitors were the Androids, even without any introduction, and Bulma found that she had stood up from her seat to face them.

A Ki blast was sent streaking by her ear and she felt suddenly terrified.

Vegeta laughed arrogantly in their faces, challenging them. Bulma had expected nothing less. The Androids rose to his challenge and turned towards him first.

Behind her, Yamcha hissed, "Bulma! Let's get out of here!"

But as he reached for Bulma's arm she moved away from him. He looked confused and frightened at the same time, and his eyes darted between her and the Androids in quick succession.

"Come on!" he said again. "We don't have much time."

But Bulma refused, and found herself standing behind Vegeta. From here she was facing the Androids head-on, and they were approaching her and Vegeta quickly. While here she was in the direct path of certain danger and probable death, she felt safer than when Yamcha reached to pull her out of the house.

Yamcha stood where he was for a few moments, before making a melodramatic speech about how much he loved Bulma, but how he wasn't prepared to simply give up his life to the Androids this early in the war the way she and Vegeta seemed prepared to do. He was going to go off and train to become stronger, and then when he returned with his allies they would surely win the fight. Wouldn't she want to be part of that victory? No, Bulma decided. So Yamcha bid her farewell, and wished her happiness in the Otherworld before speeding out of the living room just as the Androids came upon her and Vegeta.

As the Androids prepared to attack, Vegeta smirked at her over his shoulder, and Bulma felt that she had never been safer.

When she awoke, the lingering feeling of security stung her even more than her previous feeling of panic.

* * *

The days turned into weeks before Bulma and Yamcha's split became public. Bulma had expected the wave it would create among tabloids and had prepared herself for it as best she could; but when the first headline caught her eye she immediately felt the sting of tears behind her eyes. She reached out to take it from its place, her other hand reaching for the wallet in her purse. She was going to find out for herself what had been written about her and Yamcha.

"YAMCHA CHEATS ON CAPSULE CORP. HEIRESS FOR THE LAST TIME" the headline read, situated above a picture of Yamcha sitting with another woman in a restaurant. The caption underneath stated that "Briefs' boyfriend spotted with strange woman at Fratelli's restaurant in Western Capital two nights ago." Bulma stared, transfixed, at the image. It was the same picture that had circulated around tabloids almost three years before, but the pain of seeing it now was still almost as strong as it was then. It also began to slowly dawn on her that it was a blatant lie – she had not broken up with Yamcha because he had cheated on her. And suddenly all desire to read what had been printed about her vanished; if the tabloids were going to write fictitious stories with quotes from nonexistent "insiders" then she didn't care.

She felt suddenly furious and thrust the tabloid back into its place with such force and intensity that the magazine rack almost toppled over on top of her. She stopped it with her hand and righted it, and then felt almost overcome with the need to smash the entire display to the ground.

As she spun around to leave the store before she created a great deal of destruction, she was stopped by a young woman who had been watching her with a great deal of interest as soon as she had recognized her as Bulma Briefs. She had watched Bulma walk by the tabloids, and then pause as one caught her eye. And she had felt a great deal of sympathy as she realized which tabloid she was reading and watched her henceforth struggle with her emotions.

"I'm sorry," she began gently, sensing that Bulma would blow up at any second, "but I noticed that you were reading that tabloid. I can't imagine what that's like, reading lies about yourself. Especially about something so personal. I just wondered if you were okay."

"Yes, thank you," replied Bulma stiffly. She didn't want to be interrupted by this girl. She wanted to get the hell out of the store and sit in her car and cry. And then drive home at some point between tearing and feeling numb where she could cry more.

"Are you sure?" she pressed. "I don't want to pry, but you look really upset. Do you maybe want to talk about it over a coffee or something? I'm not really doing anything this afternoon."

"No, I don't want to talk about it over a coffee!" Bulma snapped. "If I wanted to do that don't you think I'd be here with my friends?"

At her tone the girl couldn't help but flare, but she forced herself to remain calm. She could genuinely understand where Bulma Briefs was coming from, and she did feel genuinely bad for the heiress. So instead she just nodded.

"If you're sure."

"I am sure."

She stepped out of Bulma's way but couldn't resist a final comment as she walked by. "Maybe Vegeta will return soon to provide some comfort."

"Vegeta doesn't provide comfort," Bulma retorted over her shoulder.

It wasn't until she was halfway to her car that the girl's comment completely sunk in. How did she know about Vegeta? How did she know that Vegeta was gone? When he first arrived, tabloids briefly mentioned him, but he was so isolated that he was rarely seen by anyone, including the paparazzi. And with no pictures to accompany a story, there was no story. Only those within the Capsule Corporation knew that Vegeta had returned "home", but Bulma was sure that woman wasn't an employee; she surely would have recognized her.

Bulma turned back towards the store to look for the woman and demand answers, but Narumi was already gone.

The tabloid stories only continued to grow worse and more common.

But perhaps the worst of them all was when a teen magazine ran an issue on the fifty hottest bachelors and bachelorettes. Bulma appeared on the cover as number one, with pictures she had done for a photo shoot nearly a year ago for an entirely different story that was never printed.

It was the fact that this magazine was reputable that made it the worst. Bulma and Yamcha's break-up was no longer a set of lies in unreliable tabloids; it was official, and now even the doubters could say for certain.


End file.
